


Come Prima (like the first time)

by Jade_Rhose



Series: Dissonant Melody [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle of Hogwarts AU, Gen, I.E. Hermione Doesn't Know the Full Story, Third Person Limited POV - Hermione Granger, Unreliable Narrator (In Regards to the Battle of Hogwarts)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-03-13 04:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 37,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3368597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Rhose/pseuds/Jade_Rhose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It doesn't take Hermione more than a moment to realize where she is. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Or rather, it doesn't take Hermione long to realize when she is. </em>
</p>
<p>Hermione is dropped into the past without knowing what happened to her Harry in the future. She is thrust into the first Sirius rescue mission, and is determined to prepare the current Harry for the future she remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Note

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is owned by J.K. Rowling. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and I do not make any profit from it, other than the reader's enjoyment.
> 
> This chapter in particular is heavily influenced by canon. It WILL deviate, but some elements/events from canon will remain.
> 
> Rating is subject to change. It is currently rated for language and dark themes.
> 
> This is Part Two of this series. Please read Part One, before continuing.

It doesn't take Hermione more than a moment to realize where she is.

Or rather, it doesn't take Hermione long to realize _when_ she is.

Anyone watching would only see the slightest widening of her eyes, and the shadows that dance across them, before her expression shuts down, unimaginable grief striking her facade.

But even that face is fleeting, because nothing can stop her insatiable mind. Not even grief can slow down the complexities of her ever-flowing thoughts, the sheer number of permutations for potential scenarios are almost unfathomable.

The deserted entrance hall is bathed in a warm glow, the embers of a dying day. She can hear the sputtering beside her echo around the empty room, but she just can't move. She takes in everything in the vicinity from long practice of situational awareness, but her mind is so preoccupied with the _why--what--who?--_ that she can't quite snap away from that image. All she can see is that blue smoke tearing at her Harry, the pained look on his face.

She doesn't have enough evidence, so she can't formulate a definitive hypothesis. She lets awareness flood back into her as the chain around her neck tightens uncomfortably. Hermione quickly rips the necklace from their necks, and ushers the boy beside her into the nearby broom closet.

She still hasn't looked at him, the young boy standing behind, her as she rests her hand on the doorknob and her forehead on the back of the door. He is asking her questions, sounding so confused, so _young,_ that she is almost overwhelmed.

She is Hermione Granger, guerrilla fighter, creator of a near-perfect undetectable expansion charm, smartest witch of her age. She can handle a little, thirteen year old boy.

She turns to him, stepping away from the door and without meeting his gaze, saying, "We've gone back in time. Three hours back."

"What?!" he exclaims, and it is so full of life, so unshadowed, that she looks him straight in the eyes and is astounded by what she sees.

_You're not my Harry,_ she whispers in her mind, part relieved, part horrified. His eyes are a verdant green, so full of life and soul that she knows, without a doubt, that this isn't her Harry.

"Hermione, what do you mean?" He asks, a little more composed, though looking at her oddly, because she seems a little dazed, looking at him.

"I mean, it's almost nine. Where were we at nine?" she speaks, mostly to herself, before she hears footsteps, three distinctly light-footed steps, and she almost smiles. "That must be us. We were going down to see Hagrid before..."

"Hermione," he says, a little slowly, disbelievingly. "Are you telling me we are both in this closet, and out there? That's impossible!"

Hermione smiles, a secret little smile, as she notes the irony of the boy in front of her, actually saying something is impossible, when his motto in the future is, " _Anything is possible._ See this hourglass? It's a time turner. Professor McGonagall gave it to me before term started. Its how I've been getting to all my classes on time. Haven't you ever wondered how I had classes at the same time?"

Harry flushes, and turns his gaze down, like she knew he would. He may not be her Harry, but he is _just so similar_. "I... never really thought about it," he confesses, and she grins. "I just thought... that somehow you were making it work."

"I suppose that's true," she allows, and he can hear the smile in her voice, which makes him look up. "But that isn't important now. What's important is that we figure out why Professor Dumbledore told us to come back to now. How could coming back so early help Sirius?"

She is leading him to the answer, but she refuses to just give it to him. She _knows_ that he is smart, that he is intelligent. He learned beyond N.E.W.T level understanding in Ancient Runes in less than a year. She is determined to help nurture the brains that she _knows_ are under that unruly mop of his.

His brow scrunches up in thought as he acclimates to the fact that they are actually in the past. She almost frowns at that, because she's almost certain he didn't come to terms with it so quickly the first time they did this. She can't imagine what she could have possibly changed already to bring about this difference. "Well, you did say that at nine we were heading down to Hagrid's, right?"

Hermione nods, interjecting, "We _are_ heading down to Hagrid's. We are just also in this closet as well." She grins at the flabbergasted look on his face, but he picks himself back up and continues.

"Right, well, if Dumbledore told us to go this far back... then maybe," he pauses, and she can see the moment the light goes off in his mind. "Maybe we can save Buckbeak too!"

She smiles at him, before she forces a frown on her face. "But, how will that help us save Sirius?"

Harry frowns with her, and she can see an echo of the man he might one day become. Her heart aches with the thought, but she shoves those thoughts into a locked box in her mind and pushes it away. This isn't the time, or the place for a meltdown, she scolds herself.

"Didn't... didn't the Headmaster also say something about him being in Flitwick's office? Fourteenth window from the right of the West Tower? We can fly Buckbeak up to save Sirius! They can escape together!" He exclaims, looking determined, now that he has a heading, and turns towards the door.

"But, to do all that, without being seen?" Hermione muses. "That'll be impossible."

Harry turns to her with a grin, his hand on the knob. "But Hermione, you _just_ said, anything is possible. We are going to save Buckbeak, and Sirius!"

He throws the door open, then backtracks, cautiously looking out the door to see if anyone is there. He grins back at her with a shrug, and marches from the broom closet towards the front doors.

But Hermione is frozen, feeling her heart shatter as his back is superimposed with that of the Harry she loved, the Harry who just sacrificed himself to get her here. She can't see through the tears in her eyes which Harry he really is.

She takes a deep breath in, and dries up the tears she wouldn't let fall. This might not be her Harry, but this was still _Harry_ so she would follow him through any where he wants. And she will protect him, with absolutely everything she has.

* * *

She catches up to him halfway across the sprawling lawn, his determined sprint pulling him towards his destination. She's panting by the time they reach the tree line, and they skirt the edge of the forest as they head towards Hagrid's hut.

They peer through the window from the forest, and Hermione needs to grab the back of Harry's robes before he charges into the room. "But Hermione! It's Scabbers!" he furiously whispers as he tries to get out of her hold. "He's right there! We could get him now!"

"No, we can't!" she whispers back just as vehemently. She shakes her head, and let's go when Harry turns to look at her incredulously. "No, listen to me. There's a reason Professor Dumbledore told us we couldn't be seen. Wizards have gone mad, trying to figure out where to be at what time. Listen," she makes eye contact again, trying to convey the seriousness of the situation. "Do you remember barging in there? Do you remember someone who looked exactly like you grabbing Scabbers?"

He shakes his head mulishly, even as the frown staining his forehead smooths out and she can see him start to understand. He looks past her, and points his chin. Hermione turns and can see in the distance Dumbledore's pearlescent beard. Her hand tightens on her wand when she sees the executioner--Walden McNair, Death Eater.

She had known, intellectually, that he worked for the Committee of the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. But actually seeing that butcher, working for the Ministry, makes her knuckles whiten as she clenches her hand.

"Hermione!" Harry mutters, looking at her worriedly. She realizes that her wand tip is smoking, ever so slightly, so she stuffs it back in the holster in her robes. She waves off his concern, as they listen to their younger selves plead with Hagrid to let them stay.

The Minister knocks on the door and the younger Harry, Hermione and Ron disappear under the invisibility cloak. Hermione mentally counts down, until see's McNair's head pops out the window to see Buckbeak.

"It's time," Harry mutters beside her, crouching low behind some large pumpkins. "I'll do it."

Hermione nods, taking out her wand, preparing to cover him if needed. The sun casts a golden glow over the horizon as it begins its descent. She takes a moment to just watch the sun as it sets--it hasn't been something she's been able to do in a very long time.

Before she knows it, Harry is running up to her, Buckbeak galloping behind him. The door of the hut bangs open, just as Harry hides behind the grove, and an outraged roar accompanies it. "Where is the beast? I just saw it tied to that post!"

Hermione breathes out a sigh, as she turns to Harry, who grins at her. "We did it!" he exclaims, breathless. They walk further into the woods, careful to stay out of sight, yet still within sight of Hogwarts. They find a small clearing adjacent to a small pond and Hermione sits on a large rock jutting from the shore.

"You did!" Hermione returns, her own smile only a slightly lower wattage. "What now?"

Harry shrugs, still on his high. "We'll just have to wait until they take Sirius away. Until the Dementors come…" Harry trails off, lost in thought.

There was a distinctly vulnerable look around him now, and Hermione is confused until she remembers.

"I… I think I saw my dad drive away those Dementors," he confides, not looking up at her and absently patting Buckbeak, who was crooning into his shoulder.

"Harry," she starts, her voice full of sympathy, but he looks up at her angrily.

"I know it's stupid, but I know what I saw!" Harry yells, almost to both of their surprise.

Hermione is taken aback by his fervor, but she still slowly gets up and places her hand on his arm. "I believe in you. But, do you think you can be open to other possibilities? I'm your friend, Harry, so you should try believing in me too."

Hermione is firm with him, and she knows that this is her first major deviance from the past she remembers. In her first third year, she had spent way too much of her time agreeing with Harry and Ron for the sake of not wanting to fight. She let them walk on her, get her help for homework, and generally disregard her feelings.

The broomstick incident certainly comes to mind, but she knows now that she didn't handle the situation very well.

She is, essentially, an almost twenty one year old, in the body of an, albeit very mature, thirteen year old. She is far more confident in interpersonal relationships, and far more willing to let some things slide.

But, she knows Harry as well as she knows herself, and she knows that he is an incredibly caring and kind individual. He just doesn't always know how to express himself, and that is one thing that she will be helping him with.

Harry looks at her, apologetic and sheepish. "Sorry Hermione. I know that. It's just… hard, you know?"

"I know," Hermione breathes, smiling at him. "You're my best friend. I'm with you through everything."

Harry's cheeks heat up, and she turns away with a smile, allowing him to keep some of his dignity. "Thanks, Hermione… I'm sorry about the broomstick thing. I really shouldn't have ignored you for so long--you really were just looking out for me."

Hermione's heart stutters slightly, as she turns back to him. She had just been thinking about that, about her own regrets regarding her actions then. "I'm sorry about how I handled that, too. I shouldn't have gone to Professor McGonagall behind your back, but I _was_ worried about you and you didn't seem to get that."

Harry looks bashful, but he shrugs at her and she smiles. She tries to be gentle, steering them back onto topic, "I believe that you think you saw your father drive away those Dementors with a powerful patronus. But now that you know that we are back in the past… isn't it possible that you may have seen yourself?"

Harry frowns. "But you just said that you can't see yourself in the past without severe consequences."

"True," Hermione concedes, "But that would be the most logical scenario, now that we are here."

Harry gives her a look that she achingly recognizes from his older self, "Since when does logic have anything to do with magic?" he asks rhetorically, his brow arched.

Hermione nods her head in acquiesce, a small smile on her face. "That is a very good point. All I ask is that you keep an open mind?" she lilts her voice, turning it into a question.

After a slightly rebellious look, Harry nods his head. She can tell that he is only humoring her, but the fact that he was willing to keep an open mind about it, when he was so reluctant the first time through, is just astonishing.

They sit in silence, Buckbeak frolicking in the water, as the shadows lengthen and the last of the breath of the sun dusts the horizon. Though they aren't talking, the silence is welcoming--anticipatory. Hermione looks over the lake, to the place Harry quietly told her that was the place where he and Sirius were saved from the dementors, thinking.

She is astounded that a slight change in her interactions with him has brought about such change in personality in him. She can only blame herself, scold her younger self's timidness in dealing with others.

She knows the man that he can become, the man he will become with her supporting him.

But, at the same time, she thinks that she won't allow him to become so hardened, so jaded. She vows to help him keep his innocence, his wonder of the world, just as long as she can. And to do so, she will have to make sure that he doesn't lose anyone he cares about, for as long as possible.

It'll be difficult, she thinks, but not impossible.

She won't stand for anything--or anyone--hurting Harry. So she will do her utmost to ensure his safety and well being.

After all, it's the least she can do for the man she loves.

Yet she can't help but feel worry over what happened--where did the blue smoke come from? What does it mean? What could that possibly mean for her Harry?

These thoughts swirl around her mind like eddies around a mouth of water as the darkness grows around them and the night animals come to life.

The first step is to save Sirius now. The rest will require _research._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on tags: I'll add characters/descriptors as they occur. There will be NO pairings for Hermione; like canon, Harry will have crushes, but not act on any. Any other pairings included are background and canon--Cho/Cedric, Arthur/Molly Weasley, etc. 
> 
> I'm also being purposefully vague and/or secretive about a lot of things. Be patient. I don't want to give anything away, but if you are terribly confused, let me know and I can try to be a little less so. 
> 
> Update Schedule: once a week, by Sunday evening. Thus, the next chapter will be available by 2/22/2015.


	2. The Second Note

It isn't until the sun fully sets that Hermione realizes that something is different.

Granted, it has been six years since she's lived through this, but she has always had a _very_ good memory and she should have realized something sooner.

Because the first time they went into the past to save Sirius, they were within sight of the Whomping Willow. She doesn’t remember sitting on the edge of the lake, or within the Forbidden Forest.

She remembers watching Lupin follow them through the hole in the roots, then watching Professor Snape take Harry's invisibility cloak before freezing the tree.

Yet, it felt so natural to come here, almost like she had been following her predecessor's footprints. Her heart pounds in her ears, because she _cannot remember why they came here._

She hesitantly stands, and walks over to Harry, who was talking quietly with Buckbeak. He looks up at her, a question in his eyes. "Harry, I just realized… should we move so we can see the Willow and know what's going on?"

Harry just shrugs. "I thought about that, too. But, you said that we can't be seen by our counterparts… and I don't know if I'll be able to control myself when Pettigrew escapes. What?" he asks self consciously, and Hermione realizes that she is staring at him, her mouth agape.

She's barely been here, and yet Harry is already displaying a calmer disposition and more critical thinking. She almost wants to scream at her younger self; if only she had listened more to Harry, if only she had trusted him more, then things would have been _so different._

The changes that have occurred have nothing to do with her, not really. She's just so used to deferring to Harry in combat situations that she didn't even think to take charge, and in doing so, she's let him flourish. She's going to have to think about her plan in far more detail.

"Nothing," she says, composing herself. "I'm just surprised. That was a very mature decision."

Harry flushes, looking down. "Yeah, well. We know that Sirius and us end up here soon, with the Dementors, so here is just as good as anywhere."

"Still," Hermione says, softening her voice. "That was a smart decision. I hadn't even thought about it, until right now," she says a little ruefully.

Harry shrugs again, still looking away from her, but she can tell that he's pleased. "How long would you say that we have?" Harry questions.

Hermione looks at the sky, covered over by clouds and considers. "Well, the moon was pretty high in the sky when we came down here, because I don't remember tripping over all these roots, so we must have been able to see them. That said, we only went three hours back, and we've already been here for a little less than an hour. So I'd give us until quarter till eleven, so another forty minutes or so. At the least."

Harry looks impressed by her mental calculations, and she tries not to feel too pleased by that. "So, what do we do until then?" he asks, somewhat absently.

"Actually, I have an idea," Hermione starts, hesitating. "Do you think you can teach me how to do the Patronus spell? The Dementors aren't likely to converge on _this_ us, but earlier…" Here Hermione shudders as she remembers, even six years ago, how horrible it had been to be surrounded and being unable to perform the spell that could have helped them.

Now, Hermione knows how to do the spell, courtesy of fifth-year Harry, but she figures she can lay the groundwork for the DA early this time. Harry really was an excellent teacher, and he later confided in her that he really did love to teach, so Hermione feels like she owes it to her Harry to introduce this Harry to teaching earlier.

Plus, she would need a good cover if she ever used it without realizing. Hermione composes herself, shaking off the last of the shudder. "Well, I don't think I ever want to feel that hopeless or miserable ever again."

Again, Harry looks surprised at her request, but also pleased. Hermione realizes with a heavy stone in her stomach that she has never really asked _his_ help, on anything. Her resolve only firms when he smiles. "Sure, I can show you the basics. I mean, this is a better place to learn it than being surrounded by Dementors." They both shared a shudder, and a weak smile.

"The incantation is 'expecto patronum,'" he starts, taking out his wand, which Hermione mimics. "And there is no specific wand movement."

He screws up his face in thought. "I don't really know the technical 'why' it works, but it works by having a really strong happy memory. You just let that feeling, I dunno, fill you, and…" He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly as his eyes close. " _Expecto Patronum."_

Hermione is almost surprised to not see Prongs spring from Harry's wand, but she supposes that it is still too early. Harry has always worked best under pressure, and Prongs will first rise when the Dementors surround their younger counterparts. The thick silver mist dissipates, and Harry smiles at her encouragingly.

She needs to be careful, she thinks, because she knows that she can perform a fully corporeal Patronus, but to do so on her first try, when before she couldn't even get a wisp… not a good idea.

So she chooses a memory that is tinged in shadows; Bill and Fleur's wedding. It was a beautiful wedding, and it was the day she realized she loved Harry. Yet in her mind, that memory will always be burdened by the attack on the party, and the deaths of friends. She closes her mouth and holds her wand determinedly in front of her. " _Expecto Patronum!"_ she cries, opening her eyes.

It is little more than a mist, but it is something, so she turns an expectant look at Harry, who beams at her. "That's a great first try," he says, then corrects himself. "Well, second try, but I won't hold that against you." He throws a cheeky grin in her direction and it's like a kick to her solar plexus.

It's been less than three hours since she has seen her Harry, and she already misses him. This Harry is fearless, smart, and so much like her Harry but, is fundamentally different. This Harry has never survived a war, he never had to watch as someone he cared about died. Yet, she can see the man she loves in this boy, but her heart tears every time, because _it just isn't_ her _Harry._

Moisture gathers in the corner of her eyes as she tries again, with a similarly sad resulting mist. Harry motions her on encouragingly, and she forces a smile, trying again.

"Try using a happier memory. I had a lot of trouble in the beginning picking a strong enough happy memory," Harry supports, standing on the bank with his wand held loosely in his hand.

It's been less than three hours since she effectively destroyed the man she loves. She knows the risks of the kind of large scale time ritual they completed--she studied everything about space/time travel she could get her hands on and knows all the prevailing theories.

If she didn't destroy the world she had just come from, then she created an entirely new timeline with just her presence. And if she created a new timeline, then Harry is still alive out there, somewhere. What if the blue smoke was her, summoning him from the future?

That thought sticks with her, and she's barely thinking about her wand as she jabs it forward, a shower of silver smoke outlining what looks like a very large animal as she blinks back to the present.

"Wow, Hermione, that's great!" he exclaims, and she can detect not a hint of jealousy in his tone. He is genuinely happy she was able to come so far in the spell in such little time.

Hermione smiles back at him, though a part of her mind is worried. That didn't look like her otter, though it has been over a year since she's actually used her Patronus.

"It seemed like you found a good memory to use," Harry says enquiringly, like he both wants to ask about it, but knows it's personal and doesn’t want to actually say it.

Hermione nods, still thinking about that odd shape. "It was less of a memory," she confides softly. "More… more like a promise."

Harry looks confused for a moment, before realization dawns on his face, and Hermione gets the feeling he isn't really thinking about her any more. He looks to his wand, almost like a question before he whips it up and shouts, " _Expecto Patronum!"_

A brilliant white, nearly opaque buck shoots from his wand, illuminating the clearing. It throws its head around, as if looking for danger, before pawing at the ground, and shattering into mist.

Hermione glows, and she exclaims, "Harry, that was amazing! How did…"

She trails off as she turns because Harry has such a devastated look on his face. She reaches for him, to envelope him in a hug, or just offer comfort, she wasn't sure, but he pulled away from her before she had the chance. "Oh Harry, what is it?"

Harry shakes his head while rubbing vigorously at his eyes. When he looks up at her, his eyes are red, but dry, and he is wearing a smile with no humor. "It's stupid, but I really thought I saw my father earlier--later--whatever. But now… Now it's obvious that I didn't."

"Why do you say that?" she asks calmly, inching towards him, desperate to offer him some sort of comfort that he would accept.

"That Patronus. I thought--I thought my dad had cast it. But, you were right, earlier. The most logical choice would be that _I_ cast it, and it looks like I did. That stag… that's what I saw."

His tone is factual, but she can see the toll it's taking on his psyche. She literally can't stand for it, so she races to him, and grabs him into the biggest Hermione-Hug that he's ever had--in this time frame, anyway.

She whispers in his ear anyway, simply saying, "I didn't want it to be the most logical choice."

He sags in her arms, his own hesitantly coming up to wrap around her. "Me neither," he mutters.

* * *

Now that all the anticipation had gone from the evening, Harry and Hermione sat silently on the outcropping of rocks. After Harry had, predictably, pulled away from her hug, they sat in companionable silence, waiting for the night to be over. Hermione had gotten up to check on the Willow at one point, if only for something to do, but returned shortly after seeing nothing changed.

Hermione checks the watch on her wrist, noting that it was nearing quarter past eleven, and she worries her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Hey," Harry says, looking over at her. "We'll be fine."

Hermione looks momentarily startled, before she grins, sheepish. "Was I that obvious?"

"Yes," he says simply, with a grin and a shrug. "You seem… antsy," he finally settles on, looking pointedly at her bouncing knee.

She stops immediately, but feels the urge to continue. "Sorry. I guess I didn't expect quite so much waiting around. If I had known, I would have brought a book!" she exclaims, partly as a joke, but also serious. She had _thought_ there was much less waiting around, but then, perhaps her adrenaline that first time was skewing her perception.

She startles a laugh from Harry and he smiles fondly. "It's certainly bright enough to read by," he says, and Hermione takes a look around the clearing.

"True," she agrees absently, feeling something shift out of place. She looks up at the clear sky, and notices the full moon casting a clear light. "Harry," she says urgently, standing up. "Look at the moon!"

Harry looks, and then mirrors her actions--standing and gripping his wand tighter. "The cloud cover is gone, that means that Professor Lupin is about to change," he mutters, squinting at his surroundings suspiciously.

As if to confirm their suspicions, a loud howl breaks across the quiet night, and answering calls come from further in the forest behind them. Hermione turns around cautiously, but nothing sounded too close, thankfully.

"Hermione," he says urgently, "Lupin's going to run into the forest!"

Hermione understands what he's getting at and panics momentarily, before she calms herself. "Yes, he does, but not this way," she says, speaking mostly to herself and thinking furiously. "Professor Lupin runs towards the gates, so unless he doubles back around, we should be fine."

"Should be?" Harry asks a little breathlessly, huffing a laugh.

"Yeah," Hermione smiles. "If he comes back this way, we'll see or hear him long before he gets here." Harry shrugs and his gaze is drawn to the other bank, where they were sure to appear at any moment.

Hermione shudders, pulling her cloak tighter around her, as she turns back to Harry. Their breath mingles in the space between them, small smoke clouds steaming from their lips. Their eyes meet in horror as they look around the clearing for the source of the cold.

Movement from across the clearing catches their gaze, as Sirius Black stumbles from the bushes, holding his ribs in a delicate way. He falls to the ground, looking up in dismay as the Dementors swarm from the trees, the sky.

The Harry and Hermione currently living through this the first time burst through the foliage, darting towards the fallen Sirius. The small figure of Hermione falls first, and Harry's ineffectual mist Patronus fills the air before he, too, drops into a faint, surrounded by Dementors.

There are probably seventy Dementors swarming them, the water of the lake freezing over as more than a dozen Dementors swoop overhead.

The Hermione who has gone back in time stands frozen, her wand clenched tightly in her hand and the echoes of the dying in her ears. She had underestimated how the Dementors would affect her, as she screws up her face in an attempt to banish those screams.

Harry steps up beside her, his wand pointing at the epicenter of the gathering. One eye is shut and his other hand is covering it as he staggers forward another step. He takes a deep breath.

" _Expecto Patronum!"_

And nothing happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update Schedule: New chapter will be posted on or before the night of 3/1/2015.


	3. The Third Note

At first, Hermione thinks it's a mistake. That perhaps Harry still hadn't cast the spell, that he just didn't do it right.

Its only just crosses her mind that he _can't_ do it right, when she pulls herself forward to look him in the eye--when she sees the devastation on his face. He stumbles, dropping to one knee and the tip of his wand dips, pointing at the ground.

"H-Harry," she stutters, faltering and dropping beside him. Despite the fact that the Dementors are half a lake away, she can still feel their effects as if they were right beside her. Over and over, she can hear the screams of the dying, people she's known for years, people she's loved, even people she's hated. Lavender, being ripped apart by Greyback; Mrs. Weasley, having her blood boiled by Bellatrix Lestrange.

Neville choking on his own tongue as he dies from snake venom; Tonks due to blood loss after her arm was blown off by a stray spell.

Remus Lupin, Colin Creevey, Fred and George Weasley, Dean Thomas, Susan Bones. Too many names, too many screams.

It takes everything in her not to curl into a ball and just let go. But, it's that image of Harry, her Harry, being taken away that stays with her, that allows her to grab a hold of _this_ Harry's sleeve and tug him into looking at her. He's still covering one eye with his hand, his shaking hand, but he still looks at her.

"Harry," she says again, with only a little more confidence, but her voice doesn’t falter this time. "Harry, you've got to save us."

"How?" he questions, lost. She remembers that he is only a boy, really, only thirteen. "How can I…?"

"No," she says, and her voice is already strong. "No, you don't get to give up. You are Harry Potter, youngest Quidditch player in a century. You learned the Patronus charm at 13, when most adults can't even perform the charm. You defeated the Basilisk at twelve, and faced V-Voldemort," here she stutters again, only just remembering that the name isn't taboo in this time, "for the _second_ time at eleven. You are the strongest, _bravest,_ person I know, and I _know_ you can do this."

Her conviction in him is utterly unwavering and his hand slowly falls from his face, no longer shaking. He looks at her, mouth agape, and the screams that surround them quiet, just a little bit. Harry looks to his wand, and then back up to her face, before he stands, pushing himself slowly to his feet.

This time, when he points his wand at the Dementors surrounding their past selves, it is with determination, not duty. There is a fire in his gaze, something born wholly from the belief she has in him.

He's still devastated that he won't be seeing his father, but… But maybe, in a way, he will. Sirius told him about his father's animagus form, told Harry that his father was a great stag. So, maybe he will see his father again, in the form of Prongs.

" _Expecto Patronum."_

He intones these words like a promise, and Prongs shoots forth from his wand, an almost solid white against the shrouds of the Dementors. They disperse in agonizing wails, as Prongs rips through them to surround the three on the opposite shore. The Dementors bleed once again into the darkness, fleeing from Prongs' triumphant return.

Hermione watches as Prongs tear through the Dementors like they weren't even there, awed even now, at the power of the spell. She turns once more to Harry, and is struck by the look on his face.

He has such a hopeful smile, yet tears drip from his eyes. He doesn’t seem to notice them, because surely he'd wipe them away as soon as he noticed her watching him, but they continue to fall as Prongs trots around the opposite clearing.

Prongs chuffs his head from side to side, noticing the lack of remaining Dementors, and disperses into a shower of silver sparkles. Harry blinks, coming back to himself, and rubs furiously at his eyes, finally realizing the tears.

He gets himself under control and he turns to her, a tumultuous grin on his face. "Thanks, Hermione. Without you, I don't think I could've…"

He trails off uncertainly, before settling for just smiling at her.

Hermione grabs his hand, the one not still clenching tightly on his wand, and offers a shaky smile of her own. "I knew you could," she says simply.

And yet, she isn't thinking about the boy in front of her. All that she can think about is where the Harry of her time went, and if it is possible to bring him to her.

* * *

After that, it is only a short wait until Snape wakes up and conjures stretchers for the passed out kids and Sirius. The Harry and Hermione in the shadows move closer so the castle is within sight, and they find the room that Sirius will soon be in.

"Do you think he's up there yet?" Harry asks in a whisper, after counting and recounting to make sure he was staring at the right window.

Hermione shakes her head, her own eyes glued to the window. "Not yet, there haven't been any lights going on."

She remembers, the last time they did this, that they waited for Macnair to fetch the Dementors, but that left Harry with so little time with Sirius. So Hermione figures that if they can get up there with even five minutes to spare, then it will be worth it.

With the sun fully down, and the moon once again hidden behind clouds, it is easy to see when the lights go on in Flitwick's office. They wait for a moment, noting that it is almost 11:40 and they are almost out of time, before they mount Buckbeak (Harry eagerly, Hermione more cautious) and fly up to the room.

Hermione waves her wand across the window frame when they get up there, decidedly not looking down and her other arm clenched almost painfully around Harry. She tries a simple " _Alohomora!"_ that works, and she is glad that she doesn’t have to blow away the window.

It takes no time at all for Sirius to drop onto Buckbeak, behind Hermione, and she scrunches her nose just a little at the closeness (and the smell), but she doesn’t say anything. They land for a moment in a deserted courtyard, and Hermione walks away, giving the two of them some privacy, and though she is sorely tempted to eavesdrop, she doesn't.

She checks her watch again. 11:46. They need to be back to the Hospital Wing by then, because Professor Dumbledore will be locking the door right at midnight, and they need to be in there, for the alibi to work.

And yet, the hopeful look on Harry's face makes her hesitate. He looks hopeful, yet heartbroken, because she knows what this conversation is about. Sirius is telling Harry that he will have to be on the run, that he won't be able to take Harry in.

That Harry will have to go back to the Dursley's.

The thought echoes around her head, and she realizes immediately that she hadn't considered that. That Harry would have to spend time with those horrible people. A plan, one of many, percolates in her mind, and she sets it on the back burner, letting it steep there.

Harry finally turns to her, and she anxiously says, "You have to get going now; their sure to find your empty room soon; you need to get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible."

Sirius grins roguishly at her, and pulls Harry in for one last hug, which he eagerly returns, before he mounts Buckbeak and turns back to Harry. "We'll see each other again. You truly are your father's son, Harry…" (1)

They wave at the silhouette of Sirius and Buckbeak, even long after they disappeared into the night. Hermione's watch beeps at her, alarm going off at 11:50, as she had set it. Her eyes go round, and she shares a look with Harry, before grabbing his hand and sprinting for the Hospital Wing.

It is, generally, a fifteen minute walk, at least, from the courtyard they were in, but with adrenaline and anxiety on their side, they make it to the double doors of the wing, just as Professor Dumbledore was leaving to lock up.

He sees them and winks. "Well done. I think," he pauses to listen for a moment, before opening the door a crack for Hermione and Harry to enter. "You've left, so I'll just lock you two in," he says with a smile, closing the door behind them.

Hermione hears the squelch of a locking charm, and she shares a grin with Harry, before they creep to their beds, the ward darkened around them. They barely make it before Madam Pomfrey strides into the ward from her office by the doors.

She arches a brow at them, asking, "Am I permitted to care for my patients now?"

Harry and Hermione share another look, this time meekly nodding their heads as she plies them with chocolate. Hermione had thought she was feeling OK, but just allowing it to melt into her mouth releases a tension she didn't know she had in her shoulders.

Also, considering it has been over a year since she had any chocolate, dentist parents or not, she is certainly going to savor it.

All too soon, however, a roar of rage echoes from a few stories above them and Hermione's eyes widened. She had forgotten about this, and figured it might be a good show, settling back to watch. She can hear muttering, loud but muffled by the door, before the doors burst open, Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape, and Minister Fudge stalking into room.

They all wear varying shades of anger, except Professor Dumbledore, whose eyes are still twinkling.

"OUT WITH IT, POTTER!" he bellows. "WHAT DID YOU DO?" (2)

Hermione is startled; she hadn't quite remembered him being so un-composed. Though, really, she shouldn't be, because that man had always been unreasonable when it came to Harry, even up to the man's death.

Madam Pomfrey berates the man, even as Harry scuttles back in his bed and away from the clearly unhinged man.

Snape ignores her, and his hands clench on the end of Harry's bed. "THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE! I KNOW IT!" (3)

Hatred twists his features, making him look ugly and sallow. Beneath the sheets, Hermione's hand clenches on her wand, and she sends a panicked look at the Headmaster.

The amusement fades from the old man's jovial face, as he places his hand on Snape's shoulder. "That's quite enough, Severus," he says gently. "The ward has been locked since I left, less than ten minutes ago, and they haven't been anywhere in that time, isn't that right, Madam Pomfrey?"

Professor Dumbledore turns to Madam Pomfrey, who is looking severely from Snape to the beds where her patients lay. "Of course not! I've been with them since you left!"

Snape looks from the mediwitch, to Professor Dumbledore, to the Minister before turning on his heel and stalking from the ward, cloak billowing behind him.

The ward was silent, before Fudge groaned aloud and sagged for a moment. "The _Prophet_ is going to have a field day with this; no doubt about it. Black has slipped away yet again! I--I had better go and notify the Ministry."

"And the Dementors?" Harry speaks up, surprising all in the room. Hermione notes that Professor Dumbledore in particular looks flabbergasted, almost as if Harry had plucked the words right from the older man's mouth.

"Yes, yes, of course. They'll be removed shortly. I can't _believe_ they tried to give the Kiss to an innocent boy. I'll have them back up to Azkaban tonight," the Minister tiredly mutters, before he turns to Professor Dumbledore, and they both leave the ward with a few goodbyes.

Madam Pomfrey harrumphs, before plying even more chocolate on both Harry and Hermione before she tells them to go to bed, heading back to her office.

It was then that Hermione notices a flash of red from the corner of her eye. She turns, and sees Ron Weasley, sitting up with a low groan.

Emotions bubble up in her chest, leaving her with a choking feeling, her hands shaking.

"What happened?" he asks, groaning again and holding his head.

Harry shrugs, and Hermione chokes out, "You explain, I'm going to bed," before she rolls over and puts her back to the boys. She can tell they exchange a look at her odd behavior, but she hopes they chalk it up to a long night. As she is in the bed closest to the door, they can't see the emotions rolling over her features, crashing against one another.

Harry's low voice explains their adventure of traveling back in time, as he continues to snack on chocolate.

Hermione lets it wash over her, but it's difficult. She hadn't remembered that _he_ would be here, that she would be confronted with _him_ so quickly.

Her hands tremble, pulled into fists so tight that her knuckles are white, matching the clean linen she is clenching them against.

A grimace passes over her face, as she grits her teeth, unable to get past the feelings of helplessness. She finally looses the battle with her control, and snarls soundlessly.

 _That_ _bloody, useless, abandoning_ , bastard _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1), (2), and (3) are all direct quotes from the book; First American edition, 1999.
> 
> Update Schedule: Expect new chapter to be posted on or before the evening of 3/8/2015.


	4. The Note of Contemplation

Hermione doesn't sleep a wink that night.

Harry and _Ronald_ munch on chocolate until late, stretching into the early morning hours. And even though their voices are low, every word reverberates around Hermione's skull.

She doesn’t listen, tries to actively _not_ hear them, and yet, all she hears is their voices, mingling together, not a shadow between them.

Even after they said their goodnights, knowing that _he_ was sleeping only a few beds away kept Hermione awake and tense, her eyes staring unseeingly into the past—or rather, the future.

_They had returned to Hogwarts to find the last horcrux, smuggled through the passageway that connected the Hogs Head to the Room of Requirement._

_It was a reunion worth seeing, but it didn't last long. Hermione was tasked with accompanying Ron to the Chamber of Secrets, while Harry would search for the horcrux they knew was hidden somewhere within the castle._

_The end was in sight, and she could taste their freedom. Unfortunately, Voldemort was far more prepared than they thought he was, only one step behind them. With the wards being hammered above them, Hermione and Ron destroyed Hufflepuff's Cup, but it took longer than they thought it would—it had taken Ron far too long to enunciate the correct slithering syllables to open the chamber._

_When they finally make it to the surface again, they take out the Marauder's Map to find Harry in the Headmaster's office._

_Hermione rushed after him, only making sure Ron was following as an afterthought. They met up with Harry on the Grand Staircase. "Did you find it?" Ron asked, not noticing the look on Harry's face._

_But Hermione had, and she took his hand in hers. "What is it?" she asked quietly, even as spell fire splashed against the windows and she could hear screams from the floors below._

_"Nothing. It's… nothing," he trailed off, shrugging his shoulders._

_Ron looked around nervously, "Listen guys, we need to get out of here. We're too out in the open here, and prime targets. If we need to have a heart to heart, let's find a classroom, or something."_

_He looked shifty then, but Hermione didn't think anything of it, too focused on Harry. "Ron's right," Harry said, speaking up before Hermione had the chance to. "We should regroup; take care of the… diadem."_

_"So you found it?" Ron asked, eagerly latching on to that thought, even as they ran through deserted and crumbling corridors._

_"I found it," Harry confirmed with a nod. "It was in the Room of Requirement. Malfoy was there, with Crabbe and… Goyle. Goyle messed with fiendfyre, and burnt the room down, himself included. But I got the diadem—let's just get this finished," he said, carefully pulling the circlet from his robes once they were in an abandoned classroom._

_Hermione instantly felt the effects of it; she wanted nothing more than to wear it, to become a font for all that knowledge. She only snapped out of it when Harry plunged the fang through the largest jewel, which let loose an unearthly howl of black smoke._

_"That was—intense," Hermione said through gritted teeth. It was only then that she saw the hungry look that was quickly fleeing from Ron's face. It unnerved her, but at the same time, didn't, because she knew Ron, and Ron had always been the most affected by the horcruxes._

_"Yeah," Ron finally breathed out, shaking the last of the effects from his head._

_"What now?" Harry asked, but he had this look about him—like he already knew the answer to the question._

_"Well, it's just the one horcrux left, right? Nagini?" Hermione mused aloud. She missed the cringing look Harry briefly sported, too caught up in her thoughts. "Then it's just…him."_

_Ron stood by the window, his long arms crossed over his broad chest. There was a dark look on his face as he watched the spells fly below. "It doesn't look good out there," he commented, eyes squinting against the evening light._

_The wards were breached almost two hours ago, and furious fighting followed. "We, we split up," Harry finally decided. "We're too big of a target together, and with all of us looking, we have to come across Nagini faster. It'll be out best bet."_

_Hermione clearly didn't like it, but she couldn't think of a better idea. So they part ways and wade into battle once more._

_And what a battle. Hermione disillusioned herself, sticking to low visible spells—spells outside of the visible spectrum._

_In the corridor, she saw Mrs. Weasley dueling Bellatrix Lestrange, as she sprinted past. She aimed a spell over her shoulder, but missed. She wanted to go back, to help Mrs. Weasley, but there just wasn't_ time. _The last thing she heard before turning the corner was a guttural moan before it cut off, insane laughter spilling throughout the corridor._

_Hermione doesn't cry, but its close. She loved Mrs. Weasley for everything the older woman had done for her, for Harry, but she tells herself that what she is doing is important—necessary._

_It wasn't long before she saw what happened to Lavender Brown. Hermione blasted Greyback through the window, only to drop six stories down. But by the time she made it to Lavender's side, the other witch was already bleeding out, gasping for breath through a punctured lung. Hermione only had time to say, "It's okay, it's okay, Lavender. You're going to be okay," before Lavender grew still and the life left her._

_Hermione still didn't cry, she didn't have_ time _to, because spells were flying around and she barely ducked a sickly orange light. A disemboweling curse, her mind noted analytically before she jumped to her feet again._

_But, some feeling griped her, and she stopped to stare out the window she had just blasted Greyback through, only to see four red headed dots sprinting for the ward lines. She recognized those red-heads—Ron in the lead, pulling a clearly protesting Ginny behind him. Mr. Weasley was half heartedly running, and even at this distance Hermione can see the tears pouring from his eyes, the devastated look on his face. Percy came up beside Mr. Weasley, and took him by the arm, sprinting to catch up with Ron._

_They poured through the gate, and as one, apparated away. Hermione just watched, open mouthed, until a teal spell burnt the skin off her cheek, it was so close._

You don't have time for this, _Hermione scolded herself, even as everything felt like it was crumbling._ You have to get _moving._

_And she did move. But, things went too quickly after that, and she only remembered bits and pieces. Breaking her wrist in a fall when the staircase she was on was blown up from below. Feeling absolutely nothing—no horror, no disgust—when she sent a Death Eater to his death, Banishing him over the railing at the Grand Staircase. And she remembers the deaths._

_Colin Creevey saving a group of fifth years that were trying to escape by broom, only to be overpowered and Hermione was too far away to help. Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin falling to a Killing Curse, then Remus Lupin following when he lost touch with his humanity and ripped through almost a dozen Death Eaters before being stopped by a silver arrow spell. Countless others, torn by bludgeoning curses, or the terrified stillness of an_ avada kadavra, _which left no mark, of people she's barely known._

_When the order came echoing throughout the corridors to retreat, to cover the younger student's escape, in McGonagall's quivering voice, she knew they were out of time. Hermione never found Nagini, and she can bet that Harry didn't either. Still, Hermione sent out her otter Patronus with a message for Harry, to meet her somewhere away from the fighting—though it seemed to be everywhere—in the Charms classroom._

_She arrived in only minutes, since she was already on the second floor to begin with. She carefully scanned the room with a nonverbal, "_ Homenum Revelio."

_Sighing, Hermione entered the darkened classroom, and set up a ward on the door. She finally pulled her left arm from her chest, where she had been cradling the broken appendage, and goes about healing it to the best of her ability. She doesn't have any practice with the spell—she had only read about it—but the pain quickly lessened, so she figures that she did something right._

_When she was done, it's still sore, but not overly so, and she wrapped it in a splint like her mother taught her, when she expressed an interest in Healing back in her fourth year. Her mother took it upon herself to teach Hermione a few non-magical first aid techniques, and though Hermione looked up spells that would make the process easier, she really enjoyed learning something new from her mother._

_Harry still hadn't arrived, and Hermione was about to worry, but the detection ward she set on the door went off, so she breathed a sigh of relief, even as she clenched her wand tight, just in case._

_Even though she recognized the unruly head of her boyfriend, she knew to be vigilant—Harry was also looking at her with equal parts relief and suspicious._

_"What was it that I said to you before the flames in our first year?" she said, though she knew, deep in her magic, that the Harry before her was genuine._

_Harry smiled, the slightest upturn of his lips, but it was enough for Hermione to know. "You said I was a great wizard. And when I disagreed, said that_ you _were the better magical, you said that it was all books and cleverness. That real strength laid in friendship—bravery."_

_Hermione's cheeks pinkened, but before she could say anything, an explosion rocked the castle, shaking the floor beneath them._

_All humor fell from Harry's face, and he said, "I take it you didn't find Nagini either?"_

_"No, I don't know that it's even here," Hermione frowned, thinking that it might have been a tactical error on their part, to assume the great snake was even here._

_"She's here," Harry said in a flat voice that spoke of trouble._

_The bottom of Hermione's stomach dropped out and she was almost afraid to ask. "Who?"_

_"Neville. I had told him that we were looking for that snake—that it was imperative that it die today. When I saw him next, he had clearly been bitten, many times," he trailed off, looking green in the face as the guilt etched away at him._

_Another explosion rocked their feet, and Hermione bit her lip. "We need to get out of here," she finally said, knowing that it was going to be a fight to get Harry to agree._

_"What? We can't just leave! What about Ron? The rest of the castle?" Harry just about roared, but was still careful to keep his voice modulated, because who knows who could be on the other side of the door._

_"Ron's gone," she said simply. "I saw him apparate away with Ginny, Mr. Weasley, and Percy, almost an hour ago. All the students have either fled or are…gone. And I don't know if there are any here still fighting. Walking here…I didn't see anyone from our side alive."_

_Harry still had a mulish look about him, but the weight of their losses was clearly weighing heavily on him. "We can't just give up. I—I also didn't see anyone alive. They were obliterating any survivors as I sneaked past. McGonagall and Snape were the last ones I saw, covering the escape of students past the ward line, but they were being overrun."_

_Hermione shook her head slowly. "I saw that from the big window on the fourth floor—though the spider cracks made it hard to see. They took out the last of the giants, but fell to spell fire. I don't know if they died, or…"_

_Harry closed his eyes and breathed out shakily. "We…we can't win this, can we?" he asked, despair coloring his tone. "Ron just—left?"_

_Hermione nodded her head slowly. "They must have lost too much," she defended, yet it was half-hearted at best. Ron didn't even try to make sure they got out, hadn't even looked for Nagini—looked for_ them. _Which was unforgivable in Hermione's mind—not that he left her, but that he would leave Harry like that, yet again._

_Even now, her voice was shaking and her hands clenched tight in anger, she defended him, but it was weak._

_Harry looked lost, his eyes widened in his hopelessness. But at the last second they hardened, and he nodded decisively. "C'mon. We need to get out of here."_

* * *

Hermione doesn't want to think about their harrowing escape as she clenches her eyes shut in the lightening ward. She doesn’t want to think about how that was the last time they had talked about Ron, about what he did.

Apparently Ron and what remained of his family fled to Shell Cottage, where Bill and Fleur were living at the time. From there, Hermione heard that they sought asylum in France, and were granted citizenship as refugees. They were among the first, and last, magicals that were able to flee the stranglehold Voldemort quickly established over the United Kingdom.

And not once did he try to contact them, not once did he check to see if they made it out of Hogwarts alive.

So even though _this_ Ron hasn't abandoned them, yet, she isn't able to see the young boy he is—only the fair-weathered friend he will become.

She ungrits her teeth and smooths her sore fingers from where they had been clenched so tightly for the past few hours. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, and lets it out slowly.

She can hear Madame Pomfrey bustling about her office, early, even though it was a late night for all of them.

Hermione attempts to relax each muscle in her body, one by one, to try and catch a little shut eye. It works, her eyes fluttering shut as the furious nature of her thoughts begins to slow, even slightly.

A loud snore rips through the Hospital Wing, and every muscle in Hermione's body tenses again, and she glares at the doors at the end of the ward.

She breathes out slowly, trying to relax again but utterly failing.

It's going to take her all morning, at this rate, to be able to control her rage at Ronald Weasley, she thinks with a heavy sigh as she tries once more to calm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update Schedule: New chapter on or before Sunday night, 3/15/2015.
> 
> Edit: despite the tone that this chapter holds, it is NOT a Ron bashing story. There will be NO bashing, but the characters aren't perfect. They will do stupid things, or only have part of the story, and react irrationally. Excepting the obvious deviations, I'm trying to keep the characters as canon-compliant as possible, at least until the canon-deviations start to influence the characters more.


	5. The Fourth Note

_It's like walking through a dream_ , Hermione thinks as she and Harry walk through throngs of younger laughing students congregating in the courtyards the next morning.

Madame Pomfrey, grudgingly, agreed that since there was nothing physically wrong with them, that she couldn't keep them for any longer. And even though Hermione remembers Ron being released with them the first time around, the medi-witch decided to keep Ron another few hours for observation.

So Harry and Hermione were able to escape mid-morning, and have since been walking around. The older students have taken advantage of the warm weather and end of term to spend in Hogsmeade, but Hermione is content to go for a walk around the lake with Harry, simply enjoying the feel of sun on her skin without the burden of worries.

She has all summer to worry about what happens next, to plan and plot. So she's going to enjoy this brief respite before she will be working hard at preventing her future.

They find themselves at the shore of the lake where they had passed out on only the night before. They share a grin before sitting down, facing the lake.

An idea takes root in her mind, and before she even needs to think about it, she knows it's a good idea. "Hey, Harry?" she asks, thinking back to what this summer has in store for her.

"Hmm?" Harry hums absently, his gaze watching the giant squid lazily sunning in the middle of the lake.

"What… what do you think about coming to stay with me for a while this summer?" she asks, her own gaze resolutely not turning to meet his.

The first time around, she had never offered her residence to Harry as an escape from his family. She had thought that he wouldn't want to spend time with her, that it would be awkward with just the two of them—that _somehow_ he would judge her, and her non-magical parents, because they were— _are_ —strict, even though she knows him better than that.

But after talking with Harry, and coming to know him on an intimate level, Hermione knows now that those beliefs are foolish. She knows that Harry will welcome—no, be excited—just to get away from the Dursley's.

Harry's head snaps over to look at her, and she hurries to explain, even as she still looks away. "I'm sure Ron," here she stutters, ever so slightly over the name, but she doesn't think Harry even caught it, "will invite us over for the latter half of the summer, but I thought, maybe, I'd give you the option of spending some time in the non-magical world."

She curses herself in the privacy of her own mind for being so skittish, but at the same time, she _is_ nervous. Not just to spend time with Harry in the non-magical world, but to also spend some time there herself.

She misses making Sunday morning breakfast with her mother, or going to the cinema with her father. She misses spending _time_ with them, because before she was so enamored with the magical world that she lost sight of the world she came from.

Harry is still staring at her, and she is still looking away, but she can tell even at the angle that he has a hopeful sort of smile on his face. "Really?" he asks, sounding young, far younger than she had ever heard him.

"Yeah," she says with a shrug. "I mean, you probably don't want to come over, or be stuck in the non-magical world, but I'd really like for you to come. If you want."

"No, I'd love—I'd really like that, Hermione." She can hear the desperation, the hope, that tinges his voice and it makes her own throat tighten. The guilt, due to her own insecurities, nearly overwhelms her and she is so thankful for this second chance.

She vows to do right, not just by Harry, but by herself, by her friends, and by her world.

* * *

It's nearing lunchtime, having sat in companionable silence for the last hour or so, when a shadow perches over them.

"A'right there?" the looming figure of Hagrid asks, a kindly smile hidden behind his bushy beard. His eyes are a little red-rimmed, and though he looks tired, he is beaming at them.

"Hiya, Hagrid," Hermione beams back, past the lump that's gathered in her throat. She had never found out what happened to Hagrid after the massacre at Hogwarts, but she never saw his broken body. She likes to think that Hagrid and his half-brother, Grawp, escaped into the forest, surviving the massacre. Even though it is probably a pipe dream, Hermione really wants to believe that the kind-hearted man before her survived that horror. "What has you in such a good mood?"

"Aw, I know I shouldn' be feelin' happy, after wha' happened with Black escapin' again. But guess wha'?" Hagrid asks, his grin infectious, as Hermione and Harry share a look and grin back.

"What happened Hagrid?" Harry asks innocently, but there is a mischievous glint in his verdant gaze.

"Beaky's escaped!" Hagrid exclaims, unable to contain his excitement. "I mus' not'of tied him up properly, because he was gone when the guy from the Committee went out back. I was worried, mind you, that something bad mighta happened, but P'refesser Lupin said he never ate nothin' las' night."

The grins dropped from Hermione and Harry's faces, and Hermione restrains the urge to bury her head in her arms. She had forgotten that Professor Snape did this, she thought, as Hagrid explained that Professor Snape let it slip over breakfast about Professor Lupin's "condition."

"He's packin' now, o'course," Hagrid finishes, even as the dismayed look on Harry's face grows.

" _Why?"_ Harry asks plaintively. "What would he be packing for?"

Hagrid gives Harry a peculiar look, surprised. "He's leavin', inn'he?"

Harry only looks at the kindly groundskeeper, eyes wide, before sprinting off back towards the castle. Hermione smiles at Hagrid apologetically, saying, "Sorry about that, Hagrid. I guess Harry needs to speak with Professor Lupin before he's gone."

Hermione dances from foot to foot, looking at the front doors of the castle. She turns back to Hagrid when the man chuckles, his black eyes twinkling. "Yeh can follow him, you know."

Flushing, Hermione smiles, and grabs Hagrid's large hands in her dwarfed smaller ones. "I'm really glad that Buckbeak is safe. I—we should have been able to do more to get the Committee to see that Buckbeak really is safe."

Hagrid's eyes glitter and he takes a great shuddering breath. "Aw, yer a good kid, Her'mione. On wit' yeh!" he calls, shooing her towards the castle with a smile hidden in his bushy beard.

Hermione looks back and waves, jogging backwards for a moment before making her way to the castle doors. But by the time she reaches them, she's covered in sweat from the hot July sun, so she slows to a walk. "How does he do it?" she mutters darkly, as she looks around the empty Entrance Hall.

She makes her way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, pausing as she sees Dumbledore leaving, a somber look on his face. He notices her, and inclines his head as he passes. "Ms. Granger."

"Professor," Hermione nods in return, though she has to stop herself from saying anything else. She steps aside as he walks sedately by, and it isn't long before his robes are swishing as he turns down the corridor.

She lets out the breath she's been holding and all but runs into the room. Harry is sitting in the chair in front of the desk in the empty office, and he doesn't look up as she enters.

"Harry?" she calls quietly, and is rewarded with him jerking up to look at her.

"Hey Hermione," he returns, equally quiet.

"What's wrong?" she asks. She hops up and sits on the vacated desk, feeling dangerous.

Harry tells her of his meeting with Professor Lupin, and then of his conversation with Professor Dumbledore. Before, she hadn't heard about the conversation in detail, hadn't heard just what Dumbledore had said.

Hermione feels the stirrings of anger begin to burn in her stomach when Harry tells her of the life debt that Pettigrew supposedly owes them. That would have been the perfect time to segue into the prophecy, or _any_ information that Harry should have. Yet, Professor Dumbledore believes that he is helpingHarry by keeping him in the dark.

And, Hermione can really understand that. Looking at Harry, she can see that, though the world has clearly pressed on his shoulders, he still has a sort of innocent quality about him, a trusting nature. She _knows,_ however, how bad things can really get if Harry doesn't start to take his schooling seriously, which he doesn't—not until he's faced with the death of someone he really cares about, and by then it's too late.

They sit in contemplative silence, Hermione considering Harry's words, and Harry still thinking about what Professor Dumbledore said about his father and his Patronus.

Hermione hops down from the desk, startling Harry from his reverie. "Well, let's get lunch. I know you have a lot to think about, but why don't we enjoy our last day here?" she says with a smile.

"No one last trip to the library?" Harry asks with a grin, but stands anyway.

"Don't tempt me," Hermione jokes, pointing menacingly at his chest and arching her brow.

"Hey, Hermione?" Harry's voice calls out to Hermione, as she is exiting the room. She had thought he was right behind her, but the joking has fallen from his face, and she turns back towards him with a frown.

"Yes?" she questions, her hand still on the doorknob.

"I really don't say this enough, but—thanks. I couldn't have accomplished anything last night without you," he says sincerely, his gaze averted.

Awkwardly, Hermione can feel a blush spreading over her cheeks, mirroring that on Harry's. She wants to make a joke, back away and not have to deal with such an awkward situation, but she knows that would hurt Harry—and that wasn't something she was willing to do, no matter how uncomfortable it made her.

"I have no doubt that you could have, had you had your own Time Turner. But," she speaks up, as Harry moves to deny her words. "But, I'm glad I was able to help you—and Sirius, of course."

Harry then meets her eyes, a grin on his face. "Let's go. I'm starved."

"Yeah," Hermione says, following him out the door and into the hallway.

* * *

Hermione lays awake in bed, long after her roommates have gone to sleep.

Lunch wasn't so bad—they met up with Ron, and though Hermione didn't say anything scathing, she also wasn't overly friendly (not that either Ron or Harry noticed). So few people cared to venture inside that the Great Hall was sparsely populated, and thus underwhelming. They spent the rest of the day outdoors, only coming back inside for dinner, which was an entirely different experience.

Being surrounded by hundreds of living ghosts turned Hermione's composure ice thin. Probably eighty percent of the room wasn't living only twelve hours before—for Hermione, that is.

Even now, it takes everything in her to not rush over to Lavender and give her a hug, saying she is sorry she couldn't save Lavender. She doesn't, but only because that behavior would obviously be suspect, and she can't let anyone know she's from the future.

She's thought that much out, at least. The old adage, _three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead_ , comes to mind because her biggest lead here in the past is her foreknowledge and she will not let anyone—especially a Death Eater—figure out her advantage.

But as to her plans for the next year, she has none. She had tried to convince herself that she wouldn't be the one in the past, that she didn't let herself think about what she would do.

She knows what she needs to change—get Harry more prepared for the Triwizard Tournament, do research on the Trace to see if it can be broken (or at least bent), and perhaps most urgently, she needs to keep Harry away from the Dursley's as much as she can.

That place chips away at Harry; the longer he's there, the more sullen and withdrawn he becomes. And since she can do something about it, she damn well will.

She rolls over with a yawn, silently promising herself that she will get up early for one last trip to the library, long before Harry will get up. She's already packed for the Express, so she thinks she has an hour, maybe two, of time she can spend within the stacks.

With those tentative plans in mind, Hermione's mind slows and she drifts off into the oblivion of sleep—it's just been _so long_ since she slept in a comfortable bed, not worried about Death Eaters or Voldemort.

Those worries will come again in the morning, when she's ready for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update Schedule: next chapter to be posted on or before midnight, 3/22/2015.
> 
> Notes: I had some serious problems trying to get Hagrid's accent just right, and I don't really think I achieved it. So, sorry for that, but it was rough.


	6. The Note of Resolve

It's inevitable, really, that her inner peace doesn't last a second upon waking as she tears herself from a nightmare.

She lays rigid in her bed, her mouth open in a silent scream. She doesn't thrash or make any noise, coming out of the nightmare. She never has.

Instead, she snaps awake, all the muscles in her body stuck in a rigor she is unable to break, her eyes wide with horror.

Even after a dozen deep breaths, huffed in through her nose, and exploded out through her mouth, she isn't any more calm or relaxed.

She supposes she shouldn't be surprised that the nightmare crept upon her. She had been having _such_ a good day; so… peaceful, that she hadn't been prepared when the images rained down upon her.

Hermione has seen some horrible things, in the future. Being back at Hogwarts brought those thoughts to the surface though she tries _very_ hard not to actively think about the massacre.

Her imagination always has known how to get away from her; not only does she relive the nightmare of that battle in her dreams, but she can vividly imagine just what happened to everyone else.

Hundreds died that day, and just as many were maimed. And those that survived, would never be the same, not with what they witnessed.

Last night's dream was particularly poignant. Instead of merely reliving the tragedy of that day, she saw the students as they are _today_ , and not as they will be in a few years—they were just _kids_ in her dream, not the adults they would one day become.

Yet, even as the muscles in her body finally loosen and she collapses, exhausted, into bed, her mind is still racing.

If she were being true to herself, she could admit that the only reason she came back—the only reason she _wanted_ to come back, was for Harry. To protect Harry, to be with Harry, without the threat of Voldemort hanging over their heads. Of course, that was when she had been deluding herself into thinking that they could come back together.

Now though, seeing all these people happy and _alive,_ she can't imagine doing anything other than trying to protect them. She can't imagine sacrificing even a single soul to Voldemort.

Even the Slytherin's, who openly despise her for her heritage, she can't see herself allowing them to perish at that madman's hands. Granted, there are a few who aren't worth the effort, but not everyone in that house is evil.

Many Slytherin's had fled, during the battle at Hogwarts—but there were some, she saw from the shadows, who fought for the sake of their school, against Voldemort.

Hermione sighs, and notes that it is almost half past five in the morning. It's her last day of her third year at Hogwarts, and there is much she should do, but in reality, she just lies there, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

It hits her, then, the enormity of her undertaking. She plans to _change the future._ To make the world a better place, a place without the threat of Voldemort in it. To do so… is enormous. Almost unimaginable.

Because she really _can't_ imagine it. Ever since she stepped foot into the magical world, there has always been those who looked down on her because of her parentage. And at the end of her very first year, she was confronted with the fact that Voldemort, the evil psychopath responsible for countless magical and non-magical deaths, was still out there, waiting to return.

She barely remembers her time before, in the non-magical world, if only because it was always the same. But in the magical world, things are always moving, always changing. She has always thought it is brighter, somehow, so her memories of the years before Hogwarts gradually started to fade. They were always with her, but they had not nearly the same amount of wonder, of awe, because they didn't have _magic._

All her years at Hogwarts are vivid, crystal clear. Especially that looming threat that she _knew_ was out there, but she never really did anything to prepare for it. Yes, she has always been the first in the class, has always kept on her studies. She's even branched out significantly with her knowledge base—her "light" reading on ancient alchemists back in first year, comes to mind.

But, it has only ever been a love for reading, a yearning to prove herself to her teachers, and to her classmates. She took her studying seriously, but not as if her life depended on it. It was only during the Triwizard Tournament, when she was confronted with the plot that was set in motion to see her best friend killed, that she began to really study more.

The Defense Association in her fifth year was a stroke of genius, but it _wasn’t enough._ It wasn’t enough to learn defensive spells, they soon realized, after that fiasco at the Ministry of Magic. It wasn't enough to study that one avenue of magic.

Harry never took anything seriously, really seriously, until Cedric died. But even then, even with the DA, he allowed his grades to remain mediocre, he allowed himself to be sucked into the drama of being a teenager at Hogwarts. He spent so much of that year angry, at himself, and at the world, so that other than the DA, he wasn't really interested in learning anything new.

She doesn't know how she is going to get him to take his studying seriously, earlier this time around. Even with the threat of the Tournament, she doesn't know how to flip that switch in his brain, to enable him to focus so diligently on learning—not like she _knows_ he's capable of.

It's only ever been the threat on his life, or on those he cares about, that gets Harry to finally take things seriously. The Tournament, she thinks, will be her best bet with making him understand how important it is to study more.

Perhaps she can lay the groundwork this summer, if he agrees to come over. It's tempting, to just enjoy the free time together, and to enjoy it with her parents. It's tempting, but the image of Harry, without the weight of the entire magical population on his shoulders, is an even more alluring image.

He deserves that peace, after everything he went through in her time line. Maybe _this_ Harry is less deserving, because he's been through less, but Hermione owes it to _her_ Harry, to help this one all she can.

(She tries not to notice how, even in his scrawny, pre-teen years, the sight of him makes her heart beat, just a little faster. She tries to bury the romantic feelings, the lust, the overpowering love she feels for her Harry, but it's hard, because no matter the timeline, Harry Potter is a wonderful human being.

She buries the love that she has for that Harry, and while she mourns the loss of the source, she tries not to let the grief overwhelm her. It's not something she's been able to accomplish, yet.)

She sighs again, before sitting up. Moaning about in bed isn't going to get anything accomplished, she figures, so she might as well get up and start planning.

She takes a deep breath in, and holds it there, for a very long moment. With only her strength of character, she pushes out those worries as she lets go of the breath, throwing them deep within her mind, where hopefully they get lost amongst the clutter.

* * *

The library opens at six, and she is there at five minutes 'til. From beyond the great glass doors, she sees Madam Pince, puttering about with her feather duster.

The older woman catches sight of Hermione, and an odd expression crosses over her face—almost like she wants to smile and frown, and her muscles can't quite decide which to do first.

Madam Pince doesn't like students. Hermione has known that for years now, but she has come to an understanding with the librarian. There is a mutual respect between them, or there was, developed over the years.

The older woman seems to debate with herself, before making up her mind and hurrying over to the doors, her wand automatically unlocking them.

"Shouldn't you be at breakfast, Ms. Granger? Or packing for the Express, later today?" the older witch asks, her tone imperious.

"I should be," Hermione agrees with a shrug and a half smile. "But I got up early, and thought I might have enough time to take a walk through the stacks."

That unreadable look flashes over the other witch's face again, and Hermione still doesn't know what to make of it. But finally, the woman moves back, opening the door wider, without a word.

Hermione merely smiles, and nods her head in gratitude as she slips by. It doesn’t take her long to get lost among the stacks, the faint scent of old books and dust wafting from the floor to ceiling shelves.

She's spent so many hours here, over the last decade. When Hogwarts fell, Hermione didn't care for the destruction of the Great Hall, or of the Gryffindor Common Room. The library, more than anywhere else, was home for Hermione, and she was devastated by the loss during the massacre—she had seen the smoke, had known that someone had set fire to the books, denying Voldemort their wisdom.

She tried to save as much as she could, summoning all the books she could see to her bag, but not much could be salvaged from the flames.

To see this pillar, unbroken, was almost more overwhelming than seeing the ghosts in the Great Hall last night during dinner. These were her friends; she knows these stacks better than anyone, save perhaps Harry.

She lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding and smiles softly. She loses herself among the stacks, and is surprised when her musings are cut off by the bell tower ringing, ten times.

She blinks her chocolate eyes, looking around in astonishment. She hadn't done a minute's worth of research, hadn't even picked up a single book. And yet, she isn't stressed about that missed time.

Her feet aren't tired, despite wandering around the library for the past four hours, her eyes leisurely moving from spine to spine. She's seeing them, but she isn't really paying attention, she isn't really paying attention to anything.

For the first time since she appeared in the Entrance Hall with the Time-Turner tying her to the younger Harry, her hands weren't shaking. They were as steady as they have ever been.

The knot in her stomach has finally loosened, at least a little. The worry is still there, at the fringes of her mind, but it was quieter. Calmer.

Merely walking among the stacks has helped her regain her equilibrium more than anything else in this time has been able to.

Her resolve, the promises she made herself last night, this morning, weeks ago, solidifies in her mind, and it doesn’t feel so much like an impossible task. The frown on her face finally settles into something that is not quite a smile, and she knows her jaw is locked in that stubborn tilt that she's learned from Harry.

As she walks, her hand reaches out, not quite touching the spines she passes, one finger trailing the author names that pour by.

She hasn't planned anything. She hasn't researched, or plotted, or done anything. Though she knows that she'll have a difficult summer, a difficult year coming up, she isn't bemoaning the lost time.

Because while she may have allowed time to pass her by, she wasn't standing idly about. She had to lose herself, to find herself. She's found a calmness that she feels from the tips of her toes to the ends of her frizzy hair.

She's no longer meandering, she's walking. Purpose trails her, and she takes one last look around the thousands upon thousands of books surrounding her. She lets their comfort, their acceptance, their wisdom, wash over her, revitalizing her.

From an intimacy developed over years of contact, Hermione knows she is the only person here, besides Madam Pince, who is sitting behind her desk. Finally, she smiles and lets out a shuddering breath. She walks, head held high, out of the stacks, and past the librarian's desk. "Have a nice break," Hermione whispers to the woman, offering her a half-smile.

"You too," the older woman says grudgingly, almost as if she doesn't know how to respond.

Hermione merely nods her head, and stops at the doors, looking over her shoulder. She offers the stacks one last, mysterious smile, before she pushes the doors open and leaves, without looking back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update schedule: next chapter will be up on or before midnight, 3/29/2015.
> 
> Note 1: I just realized that this chapter was primarily introspection, and we've been six chapters now without really getting anywhere. I'll try and pick up the pace in later chapters so we can get to some action sooner. I'm also going to try and make the chapter lengths longer, but lately they've been ending pretty naturally around 2,000-2,500 words. We'll see.
> 
> Note 2: This almost didn't come out today. All I'll say is that I found a lovely series to immerse myself in--The Survivor Chronicles, by Erica Stevens. The first book is free on Amazon! The grammar and punctuation is a little detracting, but the characters are wonderful and the action fast paced. So, if you like post apocalyptic/zombie novels, check it out.


	7. The Fifth Note

Hermione smothers a yawn as she debates whether or not to pull out a book from her bag. She eventually decides against it, given that the crowds of students finally start moving towards the gates leading to the coaches to take them to the Express.

It's not unheard of for her to make the walk with her head buried in a book, but it was always a bit dangerous, considering the uneven ground and the possibility of a tripping jinx with so many other students around.

She had found Harry and Ron at breakfast after her sojourn to the library. The former had been amused, while the latter had been a bit exasperated, but both welcomed her heartily. Hermione had intended to stay cold towards Ron, to keep her distance, but like everyone else she has come across, this Ron was simply too young. There was innocence to this Ron, a childishness that she hadn't been expecting and it was hard to hold onto her anger.

That isn't to say she hasn’t tried to keep it burning. She doesn't think she will ever forgive him—or forget. But it's hard, she admits to herself, as she stumbles over the uneven path and Ron's eagerness to steady her with a grin.

She finds herself grinning back before she can stop herself and upon realizing her smile, she frowns, turning back towards the looming gates with a furrowed brow.

Ron, however, doesn't notice, as after making sure she found her footing, he went to catch up with Harry, who was a few paces ahead of them and already looking for an empty carriage to take them down to Hogsmeade station.

It is at the carriages that Hermione's breath gets stolen. Because there, pulling the supposedly "horseless" carriages, were Thestrals.

She had never seen them, in her previous life. She hadn't, personally, witnessed death until Bill and Fleur's wedding, when the Death Eaters attacked. And since they didn't attend Hogwarts that year, she never got the chance to see the Thestrals for herself.

She had heard of Harry's description; she had seen sketches and paintings, but nothing quite prepared her for the sight of those skeletal, winged horses. Mechanically, she forces herself forward and to the carriage that Harry is hanging out of, looking back for her with a frown on his face.

"Alright there, Hermione?" he wonders, helping her up when she reaches him.

"Fine," Hermione manages, but her voice is an octave too high and her cheeks are a sallow pale.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Ron jokes, attempting to lighten the mood, as Harry's brow furrows and he looks out the door again, this time searching for trouble. But nothing suspicious waits for him on the platform, just some older students mingling, none looking at them.

So Harry shrugs, and closes the door as the carriage starts to move towards Hogwarts station. He's still looking at her worriedly, more perceptive than Hermione has seen him at this age.

"You sure?" Harry asks in a low tone.

"Really, I'm fine," Hermione says, and it's even mostly true. She's regained some of her color, and even though her hands are stuffed in her pockets, they are no longer shaking.

It isn't that the Thestrals frighten her. They are off-putting, sure enough, but they don't scare her. It was just so startling, so unexpected, that she was caught off guard. She isn't sure _why_ it hadn't occurred to her, before now, that she would be able to see them.

She had just taken the trip so often, without being able to see them, that she hadn't thought about it. She's vividly reminded of the carriage ride up to school at the beginning of her fifth year—she remembers how Harry thought he was going mad, seeing the macabre winged horse when the carriages had always been horseless.

She remembers how _she_ thought Harry was going mad, and even Luna Lovegood's, the petite Ravenclaw she had met only hours before and already knew was… off, assertion that he was perfectly normal didn't helping.

Guilt creeps up on her again, and she can tell her cheeks are flushing despite her best efforts to remain unruffled. Good thing the boys are so clueless, she thinks to herself, even though she knows that thought isn't really fair—Harry has been particularly attentive since she's returned to the past, and she thinks that might have something to do with her own attention towards his feelings.

Yet, the guilt doesn't go away, even as her embarrassment fades. She shouldn't have been so dismissive of Luna, so quick to not believe in Harry. It really _was_ disconcerting, to see those Thestrals for the first time.

She should have at least given Harry the benefit of the doubt; she has known him long enough to know that it isn't like he sees things. It isn't like he would make up being able to see something that none of them could—it's even less likely that Luna, someone Harry just met, would cover for him, or share the same vision.

Since she saw the Quibbler in the younger girl's grip, she had been a little… dismissive of Luna. But Luna, kind and honorable Luna, never held that against her, had even saved her in the midst of the last battle at Hogwarts.

Hermione returned to favor, before she moved on, but that guilt has always been with her, how she treated the young witch, despite the fact that Luna has only ever been kind to her, if a little odd.

Perhaps, she muses to herself, she can be a better friend, this time around. To not only Harry, but to others—others who she never really gave a chance, but she knew were great people. People like Luna, the Twins, and countless others.

Harry's knee bumps against hers in the bounce of the carriage and it could have been an accident, but he is still looking at her with that concerned look so she knows it was on purpose.

She smiles, for real this time, and she knocks her knee against his again. The carriage jolts to a halt, surprising the both of them as Hermione laughs a little at the startling motion.

It doesn’t take them long to find a empty compartment, but it looks to be one of the last and the perfectionist within Hermione wishes they had left a little earlier if only to avoid the stress of having to search.

Yet, she knows that there wasn't a chance that either Harry or Ron would have been ready to go early, so she tries to just let go of that anxiety.

Hermione attempts to be more approachable as they searched for a compartment, by smiling or nodding in acknowledgement to those she recognizes as friends in later years. She is trying to lay the groundwork for cultivating further relationships next year.

One of the things she knows, is that those first few weeks after Harry's name comes out of that Goblet, are awful for him. He has become a bit inured to the changing whims of his fellow students, but Ron's betrayal had really hit him hard. Harry never really had much of a support system at Hogwarts, and when Ron left, he had only her.

And, as much as she wants him to rely on her and trust her, she can't be the only person he can rely on. Having more people believing in him, having more people in his corner, could only be a good thing, with the trials to come.

So, she smiles at the people she comes across who she knew better in the future, but she knows will be staunch supporters. There is a part of her that is shying away from such a course of action, because it feels too manipulative—that she is only making overtures of friendship with people she knows will become strong, supportive.

It makes her hands sweat and the brunch in her stomach sour to think of it that way, but there isn't any better way to put it. It's essentially what she's doing, and she's doing it all for Harry. Not herself, even though she too feels isolated with only Harry and Ron as friends—despite her best intentions, she is a bit bossy and that tends to put off others in their year, and the years surrounding.

It isn't until fifth year that she gets a better grasp on how to interact with others, but even then, the members of the DA didn't like _her,_ they liked Harry. But that never bothered her, not even back then, because that year, Harry could use all the support he could get.

So she smiles at Susan Bones, knowing how important the young witch is, politically, with her aunt heading the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and how that relationship could help not only Harry, but Sirius too, in the long run. Amelia Bones was known as a fair and unbiased leader, and took justice very seriously, as Harry told Hermione about after his farce of a trial.

She smiles at Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang because she knows how Harry had considered both good friends, despite his and Cho's disastrous dating attempt.

She nods her head at the Weasley twins, for once not scowling at them as they were mid-prank. She smiles at the female members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and though they look quizzical, they smile back.

She actually stops when they pass her roommates, Parvati and Lavender and wishes them a good summer. Though initially surprised, both girls returned the platitude after sharing a look. Hermione smiles again, then rushes to catch up with Harry and Ron.

Again and again, as Hermione looks in the filled compartments as they walk past, she acknowledges those within. Most appear surprised by her interest, because she hadn't shown much in years previous, but the sentiment is reflexively returned.

Yet, when they finally find an empty compartment, Hermione sighs in relief, already exhausted. Even though it was just a friendly smile, maintaining that smile throughout the walk was tiring. The boys stow their packs in the overhead luggage racks, and Hermione drops into the seat by the window, her bag beside her.

"I've decided to drop Muggle Studies," Hermione announces to the compartment at large, keeping her gaze out the window.

She can almost feel the incredulous looks given to her, and it doesn’t surprise her that Ron complains, "But you got three-hundred and twenty percent on the exam! Why would you give that up?"

Hermione sighs, turning to Ron with only a slight wince. "This year was just too hard for me. With dropping Muggle Studies and Divination, I can have a normal class schedule again. I spoke with Professor McGonagall this morning, and gave her the back the Time-Turner."

"I _still_ can't believe you never told us about that," Ron mutters under his breath, and Harry agrees with a nod.

"I probably should have," Hermione admits. "But I promised Professor McGonagall that I wouldn't mention it to _any_ one, and I didn't want it taken away."

She had thought long and hard about whether or not to keep the Time-Turner. It would have been a great asset next year, helping with her studies, but the stress just wasn't worth it. To make sure no one saw her when she was turning, to make sure _she_ never saw herself when turning… It wasn't worth the effort.

And to be caught misusing it, which she certainly would have as she prepared Harry for the tasks, would have gotten both of them in trouble with not only the school, but likely the Ministry as well, as Time-Turners are regulated strictly.

Ron just shrugs in response, obviously still sore about her keeping it a secret. The train starts to move, slowly at first but quickly gathering speed. Soon, trees race by and Hogwarts becomes a mere speck in the distance until they round a corner and it is completely out of sight.

Harry, she sees, watches the castle grow smaller and smaller with an air of wistfulness. She knows he's thinking about the summer, about going back to the Dursley's. "Hey, once I talk with my parents, we'll get you out of there in a week or less, if I have anything to say about it," she said, starting as a whisper but gradually getting more forceful until she's all but growling at the end.

Ron looks over in surprise. "You're gonna spend the break in the Muggle world?" There is hurt in his expression, and a hint of confusion in his tone, like he honestly doesn’t understand why Harry would want to spend time in the non-magical world. Hermione is gearing up to tear into him, but stops when Harry speaks.

"At least until you invite us over, right Hermione?" Harry says, shooting Hermione a look that tells her he knows _exactly_ what she was just going to say.

"Right," Hermione mutters, crossing her arms over her chest mutinously, but there is a spark of mischief in her gaze as she looks at Harry.

"Okay. That's okay," Ron says, almost to himself. Hermione can almost see the idea come to him, because his entire face lights up. "Hey, England's hosting the Quidditch World Cup this year! We should go, what do you say, Harry? You can come and stay, and we'll go see it. Dad can probably get tickets from work."

"That sounds great, Ron," Harry says with a smile, cheered up. "Who do you think will make to the finals?"

The conversation falls into a discussion about Quidditch, which Hermione tunes out, uninterested. She automatically opens her bag and gets out a magazine—the newest issue of _Transfiguration Today_ that came out a few days ago.

Yet, even as she turns to where she left off (an article about a possible new exception to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration), her eyes aren't really seeing the words. Her gaze floats to the window, only to see a small owl trying to keep up with the train.

Hermione stands and opens the window, and the little bundle falls through. Harry jerks forward to catch it before it lands on the floor, and Hermione slams the window shut before her magazine, which is whipping around in the breeze, flies away.

"Who's it for?" Hermione asks curiously, though she knows she recognizes that Little Owl, who's regained his energy and began fluttering about the room excitedly. She sits back on the bench by the window, and Crookshanks leaps onto her lap.

"It's from Sirius!" Harry exclaims, then looks around guiltily. Speaking in a more moderated tone, he reads the rest of the letter aloud.

"I told you the Firebolt was from Sirius," Hermione says smugly when Harry gets to the part where Sirius admits to buying the broomstick. Before Ron can refute that, she says, "It may not have been jinxed, but it could have been."

"Yes, Hermione," both Ron and Harry chorus, before turning to the other with a grin. Harry reads the rest of the letter, then takes a look at the second paper accompanying the letter.

"It’s a permission slip to Hogsmeade!" he says happily. "That should be good enough for McGonagall."

Under her breath, Hermione says, "Professor McGonagall," but only out of duty to her favorite professor, not that she thinks that Harry will start respecting the teachers like that.

"For me?" Ron says, uncertain, and Hermione tunes back in to the conversation. "This owl is…mine?"

"It's what Sirius says," Harry smiles. "Cheers, Ron!"

A smile spreads across Ron's young face, and he plucks the tiny owl from the air, where it had been circling the light for the past few minutes. "What d'you say?" He turns to Crookshanks, gently shoving the bird at the cat. "All owl?"

Crookshanks purrs and Hermione gives the cat a pet, resting her hand on his back.

"That's good enough for me!" Ron exclaims, grinning at the small owl.

Hermione sits back in her seat, with a slight smile as she watches Harry re-read the letter from the corner of her eye, a look of wonder on his face.

That is what she is doing in the past—she will preserve that look with every ounce of magic she has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update Schedule: Next chapter to be posted on or before midnight 4/5/2015. 
> 
> Note: There is a slight deviation from the books in this chapter. In the books, they remain at Hogwarts for a week after exams are over. In this universe, the professors are more efficient with getting exam grades out, so they only stay that one day extra (the previous chapter).


	8. The Sixth Note

"Hermione?"

Hermione rouses from half sleep, her face squished against the window. Her eyes scrunch as she works her jaws, looking at Harry in confusion. "Harry? Why are you—?"

Hermione abruptly cuts herself off from saying, "So scrawny," as she finally remembers just when she is. Her cheeks color slightly, and she shakes away the dregs of sleep. "Sorry," she admits sheepishly, finally looking around the compartment. "I must have dozed off for a second there."

Both Harry and Ron are dressed in their inconspicuous, non-magical clothes, and buildings zoom past the window with increasing frequency. "Are you alright?" Ron asks, frowning at her.

"Of course; I'm fine," she says, brushing away their concern. Her mind is still cloudy with sleep—she hadn't expected to fall asleep, but she shouldn't be surprised since she was up so early. Checking her watch, she notes that she has only fifteen minutes at most before they will be pulling into King's Cross station. "I should get changed."

The boys need no more prompting and they quickly scurry from the compartment, but not before Harry shoots her one more worried look over his shoulder. Hermione just shakes her head with a fond smile as she pulls out her non-magical clothes to change.

In little time, she's opening the door and welcoming them back in. She catches the tail end of their conversation as they enter the compartment. "—felytone."

"Telephone," Harry automatically corrects, a slight smile on his face.

"Right, that," Ron mutters, unconcerned. He waves his hand in front of his face. "Whatever. I'll ring you about it. You gave me your, er, number, right?"

Hermione, with the vague inkling of disaster humming in her mind, decides to speak up. "Actually, Harry might be at my house by then, so how about you give my house a call first?" she says politely, even as she remembers the debacle Ron was on the telephone last time around, getting Harry into a great deal of trouble with his relatives.

Hermione dictates her number on a spare bit of parchment, and gives it to him. Harry, she can see, has a faintly relieved look about him—like he can picture the disaster Ron would be on his first time using a phone.

"Sure," Ron says, looking a bit relieved as well. Hermione can't help but wonder why he would even suggest calling, if he was so uncertain about it, but she shrugs away the thought.

They settle into their seats again for the last few minutes of the ride, the small owl from Sirius still twittering above their heads. From the corner of her eye, she watches as Harry looks pointedly at Hermione, then at Ron, trying to ask Hermione with his gaze something without getting Ron's attention.

It doesn’t take Hermione long to understand what Harry is implying, she just doesn't really want to acknowledge it. Yet, he pleads with his eyes and Hermione has never been able to say _no_ to them. "Ron," she says, getting the redhead's attention. When he looks over at her, she takes a deep breath and, putting away her personal—future—feelings, she looks him in the face. _He's so young,_ she thinks to herself, not for the first time. "Would you like to come over to my house this summer? I mean, during the first part, if you want, before the World Cup."

Ron looks just as stunned as she feels, his ears pinkening. Yet, he shakes his head, though he looks a little bewildered. "I don't think Mum'll let me. She gets a little clingy in the first few weeks after we come back and I don't think she'll agree. But I'll ask."

What he doesn't say, but she can read on his face and in the set of his shoulders, is that he is uncomfortable with either the thought of spending time in the non-magical world, or spending time with _her._

In this timeline, while the two have always been friends, Harry is the glue that keeps them together. When it's just the two of them, at school at least, they usually only work on their essays together—or, more accurate, Hermione works while offering Ron tips and edits for his own essays.

So, she can kind of understand why he would be uncomfortable with spending time with her in the non-magical world. Yet, there is an ache within her that is hurt by his rejection of that part of her—an ache that surprises her. She didn't think anything he did could hurt her anymore, since she's attempted to cut him from her heart.

It's hard, she concedes, to completely forget about the years they spent as friends, despite the bad times. All those study sessions, all their adventures; it's hard to put that behind her.

She sighs to herself, silently, before she pastes a smile on her face. "That's alright. I thought I'd ask. Maybe for a weekend?" she asks somewhat tentatively.

Despite her reluctance to involve Ron in her life any further, she can't help but respond to the crestfallen look on Harry's face. This Harry never had Ron leave him, when he was needed most. This Ron hadn't betrayed them, either of them, so Harry's faith in Ron remains unshaken.

With the hesitant look still on his face, Ron shrugs. "I'll ask," he says, looking more cautious than optimistic.

"Great," Hermione says, and she looks out the window as the train begins to slow. They are just now pulling into the station, and Hermione can't help the anticipation that settles within her. Her smile becomes more genuine, and she looks at Harry beside her.

Harry grins back, but it is more forced. The letter from Sirius is clenched in his hand, wrinkled from the force of his grip. Hermione places a gentle hand on his as Ron stands across from them, grabbing his bag.

"One week. That's all you'll have to be there," Hermione promises quietly. "Plus, if your Aunt and Uncle were to find out that you escaped, convict godfather was going to be checking up on you…" Hermione trails off with a devilish grin, letting Harry's imagination provide the rest.

Harry thinks about it, before returning her grin. "That might be just what it takes," he says with a nod of his head.

They stand and gather their things, not that they have much more than their packs to begin with. The train doors all open with a hiss, and students begin to disembark amid the cacophony of animal noises from woken owls, upset cats stuck in their carriers and the odd frog belching.

Harry, Ron and Hermione wait in their compartment for a majority of the students to get off the train so they don't have to push. Even still, the platform is mobbed, and they look out the window to see if they can spot a gaggle of redheads.

At the height of the train, it doesn't take long to find the Weasley's, so they head in that direction first when they exit the train. Both Harry and Hermione's families are on the other side of the barrier, so they'd make their way there after seeing off Ron.

It takes them a few minutes to find trolleys for all three of them, but once they do, they sluice through the crowds with the ease and expertise of having done this a few times before.

Once Mrs. Weasley catches sight of them, she bustles over, pulling first Ron into a hug, then Harry, and after a pause, Hermione. She seems surprised, however, when Hermione enthusiastically returns the hug—but she merely smiles at the young witch and pats her twice more on the back for good measure.

While Hermione's back was turned, Fred and George sidle up to them, and begin to rib on their youngest brother good-naturedly. When Hermione turns around, a glare on her features, the two clam up, their eyes sparkling with mischief.

Carefully noting that Mrs. Weasley is still behind her, and neither Ron nor Harry are in sight of her face, she softens the glare before winking. Turning her back on the gob smacked look on the twin's faces, Hermione smiles again at Mrs. Weasley. "We'd better get going," she says, though she is reluctant to leave.

Mrs. Weasley pulls both Harry and Hermione into another hug, saying, "We'll have you over for the end of summer, as I'm sure Ron's already asked. Have a good break you two!"

Harry nods his head, and he and Hermione wave goodbye to Ron before pushing through the crowds to the brick wall that separates the magical platform from the non-magical platform. A conductor stands at the wall, a bored look on his face as he waves through small groups of students to ensure that they don't flood the non-magical platform and bring attention to themselves.

Though, Hermione knows the barrier is covered in notice-me-not charms, and there is an adult wizard on the other side watching to see if any of the non-magicals notice anything amiss.

They patiently wait their turn and it isn't long before they are signaled to cross. They walk through the barrier, and the air expels from her lungs in a hiss. Because there, not a dozen paces from her, are her parents. She hasn't seen them since she sent them to Australia, months before the massacre at Hogwarts, their memories of her sealed away.

It was for their protection, she tries to rationalize to herself, but it's a cold comfort as she knows her parents would never forgive her for violating them in such a way—even if it was for their own protection.

She grips Harry's arm tightly as she steers them over to her parents, and she notes that only a few paces away stands Harry's Uncle, Vernon. Her mother's face splits into a brilliant smile, her teeth gleaming in the mid-afternoon light as she catches sight of Hermione—a smile that Hermione is hard pressed not to match.

She all but flings herself at her mother when she gets near, only belatedly letting go of Harry when he stumbles along behind her. She can tell her mother is surprised by the enthusiasm, but that makes her hug no less inviting. After far too short a time passes by, her mother releases her, and she looks up at her father before she's gathered up in another hug.

As reluctant as she is to pull away, she can feel Harry trying to sneak away and leave them to their private family moment. So she snags his sleeve again as he walks by, and she finally lets go of her father.

Her father's brown eyes sharpen on the grip she has on Harry, and he seems to loom over them from his much taller height. Hermione has his untamable hair, but his shorter, obviously, and a lighter brown, graying across his temples. "Mum, Daddy. This is Harry," she says importantly, like they've never met. Of course, they have met, the summer before when Hermione stayed at the Leaky Cauldron, but it wasn't more than a greeting.

Hermione's mother takes on look at the embarrassed young teen boy and has to smother a smile. She offers her hand to the young lad, and he hesitantly takes it in his. "It's nice to see you again, Harry," Hermione's mother says, and something softens in her stern visage.

"Likewise," the young teen mutters back, clearly uncomfortable.

Hermione's father offers the boy his hand as well, and this shake is much firmer. Hermione glares up at her father in suspicion, and he looks innocently back at her. Her arms cross over her chest. "Harry will be staying with us for a while, this vacation," Hermione asserts, and its only the years these parents have known their daughter that allows them to recognize that she isn’t about to back down.

"Sweetie," Hermione's mother begins, but stops when she sees the stubborn determination blazing to life in her daughter's eyes.

"I thought you could meet his Uncle today and discuss it—he's just over there," Hermione says, pointing. At Harry's panicked look, Hermione just places a hand on his arm to reassure him. He calms slightly, neither reaction having been missed by Hermione's parents.

"Alright, sweetie. Your father will go introduce himself," Hermione's mother says with a pointed look at her husband. Said man rolls his eyes, but does as he's told, and moseys off into the crowd.

"So, Harry, did you have a good year?" the older woman asks, keeping one eye on her husband.

Harry and Hermione share a look, and a small smile spreads across Harry's face. "It started a little slow, but definitely got better."

Hermione also watches her father, and sees his face get redder and redder in his attempt to stay polite to the unpleasant, purple faced man.

Finally, Hermione's father stalks off, a scowl on his face. He is still scowling when he gets back to his family and he aims a look at Harry, which immediately softens at the nervous look on the young boy's face. "We would be happy to have you come over this summer," is all her father says, but it's enough to cause joy to cross Harry's face and Hermione squeals and hugs her father again. "We'll give you a ring sometime in the next week to hash out the details."

"Thank you, sir," Harry beams, though it dims when he takes a look over at his uncle who is obviously fuming and an ugly shade of puce.

Hermione's mother looks like she wants to question her husband, but is stopped by a slow head shake. She shrugs her delicate shoulders, and smiles at Harry. "We should really be off. It was a pleasure to see you again, and I look forward to seeing you soon."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry only has time to say, before Hermione throws her arms around him in a hug.

She whispers in his ear, too low for her parents to overhear. "You need anything, send Hedwig or ring us."

Hermione pulls away, and Harry gives her a small smile. "I'll see you later then," Harry says, walking towards his uncle, his shoulders hunching the closer he gets.

Hermione worries her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Don't worry, sweetie. You'll see you boyfriend soon enough," her father teases, still watching the young boy until he's gone from sight.

The words finally permeate her mind after a long few seconds, and she glares up at her joking father. "Daddy!"

But despite the scowl on her face, the joking causes the shadows in her heart to lighten, if only for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update Schedule: next chapter to be posted on or before midnight 4/12/2015.
> 
> Note: Thank you everyone for the comments, subscriptions and kudos! It makes an author's heart soar to see that others appreciate her work!


	9. The Seventh Note

Barely five days into her summer break and already Hermione is bored. She has done all her summer homework and corresponded with Harry—apparently, the Dursley's are treating him better, knowing that Harry's escaped convict, _murderer_ godfather has a vested interest in Harry's well being.

That doesn't mean that she won't have him out of that place as soon as possible, however. After her father spent even that short amount of time around Harry's uncle, Hermione had no trouble convincing her parents that it was a good idea to get Harry out of that house, sooner rather than later.

Though she shouldn't have been, Hermione is surprised at how outraged her parents are, after she told them all she knows about Harry's time spent at the Dursely's. She doesn’t remember telling them more than, "Oh, his Aunt and Uncle don't treat him right," the last time around.

This time, however, she tells them everything she knows—everything the Harry in the future had told her about his summers spent in Private Drive. She tells them about the bars on his windows, about the locks on his door and the cat flap they installed. She tells her parents about how he was only let out from his room to do endless chores but locked in at night.

She tells her parents that while there was no physical abuse from his aunt or uncle, Dudley regularly beat Harry up when they were younger and was never punished for it. On the contrary, Harry's uncle would _praise_ Dudley for his right hook, or some other such nonsense.

In the previous timeline, she had never questioned Harry's relationship with his aunt and uncle, even though she knew it wasn't a good one. She didn't want to see what was so obvious—that her best friend was being emotionally abused by people who were supposed to be his family. She had been vaguely aware that he always seemed _so skinny_ when summer break ended, had even heard the comments made by Mrs. Weasley, who seemed intent on feeding him as much as possible when Harry was visiting.

Hermione sighs to herself, finishing her morning ablutions. If only she had been more proactive in her previous life, she might have been able to fix what was going on. Harry was always very secretive over just _how_ his relatives treated him, though he had no problems letting them know that there was no love lost between them and that he dreaded going back there every summer.

"Morning, Mum," Hermione mutters, pouring herself a bowl of cereal when she arrives at their kitchen. The kitchen has always been one of her favorite rooms in the house, except perhaps the study. She has so many good memories of cooking in this kitchen with her parents; the feel of the cold marble counter under her bowl is comforting as she sits at the island and pours milk into her cereal.

There are tall windows facing the back lawn that let in the morning sunlight, and she spies Crookshanks sunning in one of those pillars of light. "Morning, Dear," her mother replies absently, sipping tea as she reads the morning paper at the dining table behind the counter.

Hermione swivels in the chair, bringing her bowl as she turns to her mother. "Has Daddy already gone into the office?" she asks, curious at seeing only one parent in the house this morning when normally they went into their dental practice together.

"Yes. My first patient cancelled last minute yesterday, so I thought I would go in a little later," her mother says, folding up her newspaper and looking at Hermione with a face so alike her own. Her sleek brown hair is pulled up in an elegant tail, hair short enough that it barely brushes the back of her neck. "Did you sleep well?"

Hermione shrugs. She hasn't been sleeping well, but she isn't about to tell her mother that she isn't sleeping because it has been so long since she's slept alone. That, and she barely remembers what it feels like to sleep all the way through the night—the last time she regularly slept well was sixth year, and that seems like a lifetime ago. "I slept okay," she says with a shrug. "And you?"

"Quite well, thank you," her mother replies, somewhat stiltedly formal.

Hermione's brows furrow, and she swallows the mouthful of cereal she had just spooned into her mouth. She places the bowl back on the counter and leans forward. "Are you alright, Mum?" she asks.

Her mother watches her for a moment before she visibly thaws and relaxes against the chair. "Of course, sweetie. It's astounding, just how much you change in a few months," she muses wistfully.

Inwardly, Hermione panics, thinking she did something to give herself away. Outwardly, she merely frowns harder. "Mum? What do you mean? I'm still your daughter, you know," she says.

Her mother smiles, a slightly sad smile. "I know you are. But you are so much more mature this year," she says, and continues when Hermione opens her mouth to interrupt. "No, hear me out. You've been so hands-on in your protection of your friend this summer, but that isn't all. I don't know the best way to put this, but you've also been more interested in our lives—your father's and mine—than you have been since you started at Hogwarts. I must say, it's quite refreshing, though your father is worried about losing his baby girl," her mother finishes with a smile.

Hermione opens her mouth to—she doesn’t know. Either refute her mother's claim, or deny her own actions, she isn't sure. She closes her mouth before she says something she doesn't mean, and instead thinks. "You won't lose me to anything," she says finally. She watches as her mother raises an eyebrow as she considers Hermione's actions during the past two summers. So she clarifies, "I did some soul searching, at Hogwarts this year. I decided that as much as I love magic, I love the non-magical world just as much. And I'm not willing to give up my time here, for anything."

Her mother meets her eyes to gauge her sincerity, and Hermione is horrified to see tears gather in her mother's gaze. The woman quickly dabs her eyes and throws Hermione a watery smile. "You have no idea how happy that makes me—how happy it will make your father."

Hermione smiles shyly, looking down at her lap before looking back up at her mother through her lashes.

"Well!" her mother interjects, placing the napkin from her lap onto her empty plate in front of her. "I should probably head to the office now." She pushes her chair back and rises from the table, bringing her empty plate and tea cup to the sink and washing them quickly.

Hermione swivels back in her chair so she's facing her mother, and her now-soggy breakfast. She makes a face, but since her "camping" trip in the woods for over a year, she's become a far less picky eater so she munches the rest and drinks the milk. She places the empty bowl on the island before her and she looks over at her mother as she reaches for Hermione, holding her hand behind Hermione's head and kissing her forehead.

"Your father will be home for a late lunch; he has the afternoon off to take care of some errands," her mother says with a mysterious air, putting on her jacket that was hanging on the back of one of the chairs with a mysterious smile.

She makes eye contact one more time, giving her daughter a long look, a smile tricking the corners of her mouth. "Have a good day," Hermione calls to her mother as she leaves the kitchen and it's only another moment before she hears the door closing and the garage door opening.

Hermione kicks her feet for a moment, licking her spoon absently. She hops down from the stool and goes over to wash her bowl at the sink. Before long she's standing in the kitchen, no plans for the remainder of her day.

With nothing in mind, she wanders to the study, grabbing the first book she sees (an early edition of _Sybil_ by Benjamin Disreali) and dropping into the comfy plush chair by the bay window. She opens the book, but her eyes stray out the window as she thinks.

She thinks about what her mother said, about her maturity. Really, she tried to remember how she was supposed to act, but she knew her parents would see through any falsehoods in an instant. It was why she always tried to skirt around the more dangerous aspects of Hogwarts because if they knew even half of what went on there, they would never let her return. She was very careful not to lie about anything, just omitting certain facts, though she is sure they picked up on at least some of that.

And she will not treat her parents as a non-entity, like she did in her previous summer times. This summer, last time through, she spoke mainly of what she learned at Hogwarts, never really showing any interest in the non-magical world. She was just so caught up in the, well, _magic_ of magic. She didn’t know how much she was hurting her parents, last time, by rejecting them for the magical world for the majority of the short amount of time they had with her in the summers.

It wasn’t until she was older, and therefore able to relate to her parents more, that she realized just what she was doing to them. By that time, however, she knew it wasn't safe for them in the country and they refused to leave her behind and flee. To this day, she still regrets what she took from them, their memories of her, but it was the only way she could see, at that time, to get them out of the country.

It took Hermione months to realize if she had tried to explain it more to them, had tried to empathize rather than rationalize, then she might have been able to convince them to leave.

So when she arrived home, at the end of her third year (this time), she spent a great deal of time just being with her parents. No magic books, no homework—which she did when they were at work, or when she wakes early in the morning after only a few hours of sleep.

Instead, she talks with her parents about their work, and about things they can do this summer, as a family. Well, her father wouldn't consider it "family time" since most of her plans involved Harry in them, and her father doesn't know Harry well enough to consider him family. _Yet,_ she thinks to herself, even as her heart pangs for the man she left behind.

As she thinks about him her eyes fill with tears, but she keeps them there, not allowing them to fall.

That’s how her father finds her, hours later, staring out the window with a wistful look on her face and an ignored book in her lap.

"Honey?" he says gently, pulling her from her thoughts with a hand on her shoulder.

She turns to him, surprised to find him home so soon. "Daddy? What are you doing home?" she asks, confused.

"Didn't your mother tell you I'd be home for lunch?" he says, his eyes sparkling in his concern.

"She did," Hermione confirms as she looks at her watch. Her eyes widen, "My goodness! I had no idea it was so late!"

Her father smiles at her as she stands and he guides her to the kitchen, where sandwiches are already made for them, indicating her father has been home for a while. They sit around the kitchen table and eat, though Hermione does little more than pick at the food.

"Honey, are you alright? You looked so sad earlier," her father begins, steering the conversation into dangerous territory for Hermione.

While she doesn't want to lie, she also can't really tell the truth. "I was just thinking," she starts, and then stops as she considers her next words. "I think I was letting my imagination run wild."

When her father urges her to continue with a look, she sighs. "I got some reality checks, this year. I was just thinking about what the future can hold for me." She knows that it wasn't really what her father was asking, but it was as specific as she was going to get.

"Well, I can't say I know what the future holds, but I can be sure of what the next few hours hold," he says, sounding deceptively innocent.

"Mum said you had errands to run, this afternoon. What did you have plans for?" she asks, forcing her mind from its previous thoughts and onto the topic at hand.

"Oh, I thought I'd stop by Surrey, since I have a few hours off this afternoon," he says, taking a big bite from his sandwich and polishing it off.

It takes only a second for the connection to make within her mind, and she squeals, rushing to pull her father into a hug. He chokes on his sandwich, and she pats him heavily on the back, before rushing to put her shoes on.

"I'll meet you in the car!" she calls behind her, her father's only response is bewildered laughter that echoes in the empty house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update Schedule: new chapter to be posted on or before midnight of 4/16/2015.
> 
> Note: This chapter almost didn't get out this evening. Hectic, hectic week, and I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter, as it was written (and edited) through an exhausted haze. I might return to it in the morning to see if it needs any polishing, as I know I won't be able to do anything substantive tonight. Also, thanks again everyone for the kudos, comments, subscriptions and bookmarks!


	10. The Eighth Note

Hermione's practically bouncing in her place in the front seat of her father's car when they pull onto Private Drive.

She doesn’t even wait for him to put the car in park before she's out the door and racing across the perfectly manicured lawn. Her hand is poised to knock on the front door of the house and she can't help but look back at her father with a grin, which he returns as he shuts off the car and, much slower, exits the car.

She can't believe he and her mother were able to keep this from her. Apparently, her father had contacted Harry and his family earlier this week and told them they would be by today to pick Harry up. Or, given the tone her father used, he had rather forcefully demanded that Harry be remanded into Granger custody from Dursley Prison, and Harry's relatives had somehow agreed.

While Hermione would love to find out just what he said to them to make them so amiable to Harry's release, she knows that she shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth and to just accept it as one of those inexplicable moments of parents getting things done.

She turns back to the door, her fist knocking smartly. She heard immediate movement from within, and the door opens. She only has to recognize the glasses and unruly mop of black hair before she almost bowls over him as she gives him one of her patented Hermione Hugs™, causing him to stagger back into the house, with a call of, "Harry!" She startles a laugh from him as his arms come up around her to steady them.

Her father clears his throat from behind them and Harry jumps from her like he's been scalded. But Hermione isn't as willing as he was to let go, and all Harry manages to do is bump his hip into the entry table and he would have fallen over if she hadn't been holding so tightly.

Loosening her grip with a sheepish smile, she pulls away just far enough to place her hands on his shoulders and give him a once over. He doesn't look too bad, having only been within the house for five days. He's still wearing those baggy hand-me-downs and ratty trainers, yet looks the same as he did the last time she saw him. She can see no evidence of the neglect she knows he's been forced to endure, but she knows that the marks are probably mental, emotional.

Finishing with her inspection, she whips around with a glare to give her father a dirty look for startling Harry. She hasn't let go of Harry, so her father merely raises an eyebrow at her, to which she rolls her eyes before turning back to Harry. "Are you ready to go?" she asks, peering past him into the darkened hallway.

Her eyes alight on the cupboard and a dangerous light enters her eyes—though the Harry before her isn't able to recognize it for what it was, her Harry would have surely taken a step back from her to give her a better shot at whoever idiot it was that managed to rouse her fury.

She can also hear someone puttering about the kitchen, who she figures is Harry's aunt, since his uncle should still be at work and Dudley is surely out terrorizing the neighborhood kids. Plus, the steps are too light to be Harry's oaf of a cousin, who would have been stomping around even while trying to be quiet.

"Of course. I'm all packed," he says, motioning towards his trunk leaning up against the staircase behind them.

"That's where I come in," Hermione's father says from behind them, sliding his hands from his pockets as he invites himself into the house. Harry and Hermione instinctively step back, separating, to the bottom of the staircase, and allow the older man by. Her father grabs the handle that's at waist height before hefting the trunk up and grabbing the other handle.

Harry starts forward, a conflicted frown on his face. "You don't have to—" he starts, but stops at the flat look the older man sends him, eerily similar to the flat look Hermione gives when she is unamused with something.

Hermione's father grins and walks past them, heading out to place the trunk in the boot of the car. Hermione hovers in the doorway for a moment, again looking over Harry's shoulder and into the house. "Should you…?" she trails off, motioning past Harry with her head.

Harry merely shakes his head, and that was good enough for Hermione, who leads the way out the front door. Closing the door behind them, Harry takes a moment to just look up at the July sun with a smile.

Hermione turns back when she realizes Harry isn't behind her, and is captured by the freed look on his face. A small smile hovers on his face, and she extends her hand out to him. He soon turns his attention back to her, the smile still playing on his face, and he takes her hand as she leads him to the car and away from that awful house.

* * *

The first two minutes of the drive are stilted and awkward. Hermione's father is stern and asks pointed questions ("How were your relatives treating you?" and "Have you had any altercations with your cousin since you've been home?" among others), while watching their reactions in the backseat from the rearview mirror.

Harry, unused to being questioned so thoroughly from an adult about his living situation with his relatives, gave stuttering, non-answers. Though flustered, he doesn't make any allusions to being starved or beat up, his aunt's and cousin's favorite punishments respectively.

This actually makes Hermione's father's gaze narrow on the boy, but before he can make any more comments, Hermione's decided she's had enough. "So, Harry, have you gotten started on your summer homework?" she asks, a nice and safe topic, though something they've already talked about in their letters.

Harry shrugs, but answers, "Yeah, I've gotten most of the essays started, though I haven't finished any of them. I could finish them in maybe a week? If I try, that is."

Hermione nods, impressed that he's actually gotten so much done, so quickly. Of course, she's finished with hers, but she doesn’t have nearly as many chores as he does and was able to spend most, if not all, her free time when her parents were at work to do her summer homework.

She's also done the work before, though it has been a few years. She actually had to rewrite one of her essays when she realized what she wrote was too advanced, even for her to have written at this time. It was only through re-reading the essay she was able to notice that she had inadvertently quoted _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 5_ by Miranda Goshawk.

After that, she had gone through the remainder of her essays with a fine toothed comb, to make sure that while her papers were top notch, they weren't _too_ noticeable as being more than what a very smart third year could do.

"That's great!" Hermione exclaims with a smile. "I finished my essays yesterday, so if you need any help, I can point you to the right chapter to help you finish yours."

From the corner of her eyes, she can see the brow her father raises at her offer to help without giving Harry the answers. Harry smiles in reply, "Thanks Hermione. I'll let you know if I need any help with them."

The silence from that conversation ending is less stifling than the atmosphere when her father was interrogating Harry, but equally uncomfortable. Hermione shares a shaky smile with Harry before gathering her wits about her and telling him about the article she had been reading about Gamp's Law in _Transfiguration Today_.

She knows that at this point in his schooling, Harry has very little intellectual curiosity—something else she can blame the Dursley's for. Though she knows, deep down, that she is also partially to blame for Harry's relative indifference towards furthering his theoretical knowledge base.

Since now, Hermione hasn't helped Harry challenge himself; she allows him to copy from her essays or glean ideas from them, not pushing him to do any of his own research. That's going to end now, she confirms, as she resolves to help Harry rekindle his curiosity when it comes to school work.

The first step, however, is to find a topic that interests him, enough that he'd be willing to do outside research on it for pleasure, and not for any school work. So, she prattles on about the ramifications to Transfiguration as they know it if the new exception to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration turns out to be proven.

(Hermione knows, however, that it will be disproven in less than two years, because she remembers reading that article, too, in her fifth year as she helped Harry plan for new DA meetings.)

Though Harry affects a look of interest, she can tell that he is only being polite at this point, a bit of fond exasperation in his face as he lets her chatter on. She isn't surprised; he had never been particularly interested in Transfiguration beyond the Animagus transformation that he briefly looked into during fifth year (with some help from Sirius, of course) and Human Transfiguration, which he only really got interested in while they were on the hunt for the Horcruxes.

She should have prepared a discussion on some new study in Defense Against the Dark Arts, since that is his main interest and always has been, but she hadn’t thought the silence would be quite so awkward! And yet…

And yet, when Harry asks, in a quiet voice and a pensive look on his face, "Can they actually prove it?" hope blossoms in her gut with a warm flare.

She can't control the grin that grows on her face—really, she doesn't even try. "That's what's so interesting about this exception! It can't actually be _proven_ until it's _disproven,_ " she starts, her face flushed in her excitement that is only partially fabricated.

Of course, if it was the first timeline, she would be over the moon about his interest since for her, the topic was so new and interesting. Now, however, she knows that it's already been disproven, so she's not as passionate as she could be. That doesn’t stop her from regurgitating most of what she read in the article, adding her own thoughts about the new exception.

Her father shakes his head fondly from the front seat as they settle into the comfortable hour long drive from Surrey to Crawley.

* * *

Hermione's mother is home when they arrive back, and she greets Harry warmly as she holds the door open for her husband, who's bringing the trunk into the house. "Welcome, Harry."

Harry ducks his head, still blushing from the quick argument with Hermione's father about who was going to carry his trunk into the house. "Thank you for having me, Mrs. Granger."

"Oh," Hermione's mother exclaims, then smiles. "Please, call me Emma. Mrs. Granger makes me feel so old."

"Oh, er, alright, M—Emma," Harry stutters, though he smiles at himself mockingly.

Emma Granger pats his shoulder as he passes, "You'll get used to it eventually; you'll be here for a while this summer."

Harry's startled into a smile, but he doesn’t say anything as he is led into the house. Hermione closes the door behind her, reflexively locking it. She's smiling as she watches her mother speak with Harry, and her smile widens when her mother looks back at her, a question in her gaze.

Hermione catches up as her mother finishes the tour of the downstairs (the living room, study, kitchen with attached dining room, and bathroom), with a promise to finish the tour after dinner.

"Dinner?" Hermione asks, perking up. She can see, from the corner of her eye that Harry perks as well, and she hopes it's just because he's a growing teen and not because his relatives had been starving him. It's a weak hope, but she clings to it.

Her mother laughs, and meets Hermione's eyes across the hallway. "I ordered pizza, so it should be here soon. It's Friday, isn't it?" she asks mischievously, her eyes twinkling.

The doorbell rings, and they all turn to the front door. Hermione is the first to move, calling, "I'll get it!" over her shoulder.

It's the pizza guy, and she pays him with the money left on the entry table. She carries the two pizza boxes (extra cheese on one, and olives, feta and spinach on the other) to the dining room, stopping in the doorway at the sight before her.

Her family—all of her family—sits around the table as they wait for her. From the set of Harry's shoulders, and the look on her mother's face, she can tell that her father is teasing Harry.

Even though _this_ Harry isn't _her_ Harry (and she feels horrible for even comparing them), Harry has always been family. Whether as a friend, or something more, Hermione has always considered Harry to be family.

She aches for her Harry, and the life they could had together. But that's not going to stop her from keeping this Harry safe.

And, perhaps just as important, happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update Schedule: next chapter to be posted on or before midnight, 5/03/2014.
> 
> Note: I'm changing my update schedule for this story. Instead of every Sunday, I'll update every other Sunday. My hours at work are about to change, and I'll have much less free time in the evenings, which is generally when I write. I'll try and see if, after a few weeks of the new schedule, I can feasibly return to posting every week. 
> 
> Also, thanks everyone for the kudos, subscriptions and bookmarks!


	11. The Ninth Note

"Hey, Hermione?"

It's later the same evening and Hermione is again curled in her favorite chair in the study, the book from earlier in her lap. Harry and Hermione had retired to the study, after dinner and the pointed and alternatively subtle inquisition headed by her parents.

Hermione set Harry up at the desk and she told him in no uncertain terms that he should get working on his summer work. When he raised his eyebrows at that, she smiled innocently and said, "Well, we have _plans_ for the rest of the summer, and how will we be able to enjoy them if we have this work hanging over our heads?"

But he didn't complain, instead quietly getting his books and parchment from the guest room that would be his for the remainder of the summer and returning to the study and getting to work without a word.

Hermione's mother checked in on them on her way to bed, letting them know if they needed anything that Hermione's father would be up and in the living room, watching television, for a little while longer at least.

Since then, the only sounds coming from the study is the constant scratching of a quill on parchment and turning pages. It was neither awkward nor forced, and if Hermione didn't know better, it felt like they were sitting in the Gryffindor Common room, late at night when it was mostly empty but for those diligently working on something.

Hermione looks up from her book at Harry's query, her finger unconsciously moving to hold her place halfway down the page. "Yes?" she asks.

Suddenly bashful, Harry looks down at his parchment as he gathered his courage. He finally looks up, and makes eye contact. "Can I get you to look over these finished essays? I know you're reading, but if it's not too much trouble…?"

"Of course," she says without thinking, closing the book and standing from her lounger. She sits down in the chair opposite Harry, across the desk, and makes a "gimme" gesture with her hands.

Harry grins, and gives her his finished works, getting back to the essay in front of him.

They work in silence for almost a half hour, broken occasionally by a, "Hmm," from Hermione. For her part, Hermione is impressed by the content of the essays. In the past, Harry had rarely had her look over his summer work since she only ever saw him late summer, when he had already finished and forgotten about it.

So she couldn't say for certain if he had offered such thoughtful insights, the first time around, but she gets the feeling that he had. He seems far too comfortable with his work, given that he's more than halfway finished his essays and they've only been on vacation for less than a week.

That begs the question: why did he not show this kind of mastery of the subject material in his work during the school year? Her brown furrows in thought as she re-reads his charms essay, comparing and contrasting the wand movements for all the charms they learned this year.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches as Harry sneaks a peak at her, his face quickly ducking back down, flushed, when they make eye contact. _Interesting_ , she thinks, _he knows what he's showing here is different from the essays he's written during the previous school years._

Harry, her Harry, had never applied himself to essays, as far as she knew, until his sixth year, under her guidance. But this Harry, without provocation or assistance from her, took initiative and put a great deal of effort into these essays, which certainly shows.

 _How do I want to play it off?_ she wonders to herself, tapping her lip with the end of the pen she had found on the desk. Should she be exuberant, proud of the work he did? Should she be nonchalant, expecting this kind of work? Should she demand an explanation?

She thinks she knows the reaction he's expecting—given the way he keeps sneaking worried looks at her and the way his shoulders are hunched, he's expecting anger. He's expecting her to be mad, or worse, and he's afraid of what it will mean. And yet…

And yet, he still gave her the work to look at. So on some level, he must know that any anger she may or may not feel will be outweighed by the sheer ingenuity of his critical thinking.

Or something like that. Hermione's really too tired to overanalyze her actions and Harry's reactions to her; the sun went down long ago and she really hasn't been sleeping well lately. What she does know is that the work in front of her is of high quality, for a recent third year student, and probably worthy of being in the top fifteen of their year, when he had been coasting at the clear middle for the last three years. It's nothing she couldn't whip up in a matter of minutes, but just the fact that it is leaps ahead of anything he's written in the time line so far is astounding.

She gathers up the papers and stacks them neatly into a pile, setting her unused pen back onto the desk. "Well, I can't think of anything I would change, besides a few grammatical things that you probably didn't even notice were a little off. But," she says in a suddenly stern tone, fixing Harry with a fierce glare. She lets him sweat under that for only a moment longer before she continues, "I expect that your school work next year is up to this level, and you can guarantee that I _will_ be checking."

Harry breath explodes from him in a sigh, unintentionally letting her know just how worried he was about her reaction. "Yeah, of course. You know, I was expecting…" Harry trails off, suddenly looking nervous.

Hermione raises an eyebrow, and waits for him to continue, even though he clearly doesn’t want to. "I was expecting more… I don't know, anger, maybe? Outrage?"

Hermione heaves an inaudible sigh before sitting back in her chair bonelessly. She doesn't want to admit it, but if this had happened in the previous timeline, she might have responded badly. She wasn't as aware of other's feelings at this point, and she might have taken it to mean that because Harry was clearly a bit smarter than he let on, he might not need her for her brains anymore.

She was very insecure in their friendship at this point, thinking that all Harry and Ron kept her around for was her knowledge and homework help. It's only with the distance of time that allows her to realize that both Harry and Ron are just as insecure as she was, and didn't know how to properly articulate just what she meant to them.

So, while she could see Harry's point, about her first response being outrage, she wasn't the same Hermione who did homework with them every night. She was a Hermione who had mellowed (maybe a little) with age and experience, and who had a quiet confidence that the previous Hermione couldn't even imagine.

This Hermione was just proud that Harry trusted her this much, to know that she would stick with him, regardless of any anger or, and he didn't say it but Hermione is thinking it, jealousy, she might be feeling.

Hermione shakes her head slowly. "No," she draws out, tapping her fingers on the desk. "I'm not angry. At least," she amends with a dark smile, "I'm not angry at _you._ "

Harry's brow furrows as he frowns. "What? Who else is there to be mad at?" he asks, finally putting his quill down and pushing the half finished essay in front of him away.

"Myself," she admits simply, inelegantly shrugging her shoulders. "No, wait," she continues, when Harry opens his mouth to rebut her statement. "Just listen. I should have noticed that you were better than your grades indicated. I laud myself on being the smartest, on being the top student in our year, but if I was really smart, I would have noticed something sooner."

"Hermione," Harry says, but trails off uncertainly. "That's not—"

"That's exactly it. If I had been a better friend, before now, you would have been able to trust me with this sooner." Again, Harry tries to interject, but this has been building in her for quite some time and she isn't sure she can stop now. She _knows_ that she doesn't want to. "Hear me out. Please. After exams, and before that whole thing with Sirius, I did some soul searching. After seeing my boggart as Professor McGonagall, I realized how superficial that fear is. Yes, I care about my grades, probably more than most, but to the point where it trumped everything else—where it trumped you and our friendship… Some things are just more important. What we did to help Sirius and Buckbeak is so much more important than any essay or a grade on an exam.

"Since that exam, I've been trying to be a better friend—a better person. So I'm angry at myself for having not noticed you not working at your fullest potential—but I'm just so glad you showed me this. Now, I don't know why you felt you had to hide this part of you, and you don't have to tell me, if you aren't ready, but I'm prepared to help you in any way that I can."

Hermione's practically panting from her impromptu speech, and she breathes in deeply to try and regulate her breathing. She had come up with the story just last night, to explain her sudden change of heart between exams and rescuing Sirius. Admittedly, it’s a little weak, but it’s the best she could come up with that didn’t involve a more gradual change in character—she had ruined her chances for that to work her very first night in the past. Not that she _wants_ to be that girl again; just that it would have attracted less suspicion.

"Hermione—I," Harry starts, stopping as his voice catches and he looks at her like he's seeing her—the real her—for the very first time. He looks absolutely floored by her proclamation and Hermione thinks that maybe it’s the first time anyone has ever said that they had such faith in him, and willing to help him unreservedly.

That thought finally breaks the crack in her—the crack that started when she returned to the past without her Harry and spider webbed in the days since. She's mortified to find that she can't keep the tears that had been threatening her since her sojourn into the past at bay. She takes a great, shuddering, breath and _bawls._

Had she been able to see past her tears, she would have seen Harry's face fall, startled right out of his emotional turmoil and into panic at her overenthusiastic display of emotion. She does hear, however, the scrape of a chair against carpet as he makes his hesitant way over to her.

So she isn't startled when a hand pats her on the shoulder, haltingly, awkwardly. Just him _trying_ to comfort her sends new waves of misery past her and she shoots up from the chair, knocking it to the floor with a dull thud and throwing herself at Harry in a tight hug. She's muttering variants of _I'm sorry_ mixed with _Don’t hate me_ , and though he seems shocked, his own arms wrap around her as he murmurs, _It's okay_ and _I could never hate you_.

It isn't really Harry she's talking to, though. It's her Harry, the man she loved and left behind. There is residual guilt over this Harry—and the constant comparing of the two in her mind—that causes her to latch onto him with the promise to _Never let go._

Soon, her bawling slows, her eyes heavy and tired. She's spent, utterly exhausted, both mentally and emotionally so it's only with half a mind that she hears indistinct murmurings above her head and Harry starts to pull away.

She moans low in her throat, unable to put words to the feeling in her state, yearning for the comfort of being in his arms. Stronger arms heft her up without a complaint, carrying her bridal style. The chest her head is pressed against rumbles as he talks over her, and she knows instinctively that her father is carrying her. She snuggles up to him, and falls asleep in between one word and the next.

Knowing that Harry doesn't blame her, for her inattentiveness, for her arrogance, well… It's the best sleep she's had in ages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update Schedule: new chapter to be posted on or before midnight on 5/17/2015.
> 
> Thanks for all the support! And good news! I'll have the next two weeks on my crazy work schedule, but I was offered a better job and I took it, starting the week after the 17th. So after I post the next chapter, I should be able to return this one to every week. But, we'll see how it goes!


	12. The Note of Silence

She wakes slowly, her head of tousled curls not even moving as her left arm blindly gropes at the cold bed beside her.

"Harry?" she queries into her pillow as she burrows deeper under the covers of her plush bed. The sun is just rising through her shades as she hides from the world. "Come back to bed."

Her arm stills in the act of reaching across the bed, because she is laying in a _bed_ with pillows, sheets and a huge down comforter and not the enlarged camp cot she had thought she had gone to sleep on.

Her brow scrunches as she arches her back and she pulls her head from her pillow to support herself on her arms. Her eyes finally open and she looks around her room with a blank stare, unseeing, or perhaps unwilling to recognize her obviously familiar surroundings.

Understanding lights her gaze as her face crumples and she drops back into bed, dry sobs echoing around the empty room.

* * *

Her eyes are heavy as she makes her way down to the kitchen the next morning. Thankfully, they are no longer bloodshot, but they feel gritty and she knows she looks just wretched.

She smells hot tea, the really strong stuff her mother drinks, and she slows her decent. She hasn't considered what she was going to say about the night before, she's barely awake and hasn't _wanted_ to think about it.

So she doesn't, restarting her trek down the stairs, a small frown on her face. She pulls her robe tighter around her waist, feeling suddenly exposed. A deep breath and she's in the kitchen, which falls silent in her wake.

She doesn’t look up as she goes about pouring herself a cup of her mother's tea, the rich, earthy smell filling her with nostalgia.

Every day this week she's felt that, because it has been so long since she had last smelt this particular blend of herbs. And even though she doesn't like the taste of tea, she still pours herself a mug, every day.

There was once a time, not long ago, that she thought she would never smell her mother's tea, again. So every chance she gets to sip that warm reminder of home, she does, with a smile on her face.

Its then that she realizes that though they are trying to be subtle about it, everyone in the kitchen are watching her from the corner of their eyes like she's a fragile child held together by tape and glue.

She blinks, slowly opening her eyes and unwilling to break the family image, but knowing it's inevitable at this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I am so sorry that this isn't a full update. Going from working nights to mornings again has really messed with me, and I've been exhausted all week. Then, when I thought I could actually rest this weekend, I had a family situation that required me for most of the weekend. I'm posting what I have now, because I can't post nothing, and I promise that next week I'll post a full length chapter, hopefully longer.
> 
> Thus, Update Schedule: new chapter to be posted on or before midnight 5/25/2015 (I'm giving myself till Memorial Day, because its a holiday).
> 
> Thank you all for your patience, and those who subscribed, commented, bookmarked, read, and left kudos.


	13. The Tenth Note

"So, sorry about the whole, 'crying 'til I pass out,' thing, last night," she says casually, trying first for humor, to see if she could shrug the whole thing off as a stress reaction.

She should have known it wouldn't work, since the Hermione of a month ago never would have tried humor as the first response to an awkward situation. Harry chokes on his cantaloupe and looks at her with wide eyes, as if he couldn't believe she actually said that.

Her father looks down his glasses at her, his features look like they are carved from stone, decidedly unimpressed with her. Hermione flinches away from him slightly, and he softens, though behind his glasses his eyes are serious.

Even the Hermione _she_ was a month ago, in the future, probably wouldn't have gone with sarcasm first, but things have been feeling more and more surreal and she is having a hard time fitting back into either Hermione mold.

As much as things are the same, the small changes in her behavior have begun to have far reaching consequences. So she's having trouble tempering her reactions to fit in with the Hermione-she-used-to-be's reactions, since she's beginning to recognize less and less about this timeline.

She can only begin to imagine just what her future will hold because of her seemingly innocuous actions so far. Who knows, maybe her future knowledge will even become obsolete, _and isn't that just a terrifying thought_ , she thinks.

Shaking herself from that thought, she pulls herself back to the present and her family. Concern surrounds her--when she wasn't paying attention, her mother had taken a hold of Hermione's hand and was rubbing her thumb over her second and third knuckles, like she used to when Hermione was a child and afraid of leaving the house. Harry is stealing looks at her over his bowl of cereal, his green eyes filled with distress; _he thinks he's done something wrong,_ she thinks with amazement, _to cause my… outburst last night._

She'll have to nip _that_ in the bud, because while he was central to her breakdown, he _did not_ cause it. She was just a little overwhelmed—at her undertaking, at what needs to be done, at what she is doing to prepare him.

She's surrounded by the people she loves most in the world, right now, and for these people, she would do anything. She's been bursting at the seams with guilt for lying to them; for lies of omission are just as bad as outright lying about something.

_The truth, then,_ she thinks, _or at least as much of a truth as I_ can _tell them_. "Sorry, I really didn't mean that," she sighs, looking down at her own plate and playing with her fork with her free hand. She tries to think of some reason she can give them, of why she broke down last night, yet she herself doesn't really understand why she lost it. "I—I'm not sure where it came from. End of term was… stressful, but I had thought I was handling everything well."

A wry smile tugs at her mouth as she shrugs, and the look in her eyes is much older than her physical appearance of a fourteen year old girl. "As it turns out, I wasn't handling anything at all." She meets her mother's eyes, and even as something in her dies a little at the lie she's about to tell, she doesn't flinch away from it— _it's for everyone's safety._ "I told you how Professor McGonagall arranged for a special study aid to help me get to all my classes?"

Her mother nods slowly, and Hermione continues, bolstered. "Well, that 'study aid' was a Time Turner—it's exactly what it sounds like," Hermione says, when her father frowns and opens his mouth to question her. "It could only turn back six hours at a time, and I would use that to attend all my classes. I didn't tell you about it earlier, because I couldn't. I promised Professor McGonagall that I wouldn't tell anyone about it. I realize now," she says with a shake of her head as she meets Harry's gaze, "that it was arrogant and foolish to keep it completely secret. I—I really could have used the support of someone who knew I was living through thirty to thirty two hour days, even if it was just to talk about it."

She takes another deep breath, but she shakes her head when it looks like her father is going to comment again. "Let me finish, please. I don't know that, I'll be able to continue if you do." Her father sits back, an understanding look on his face.

"I—I don't know that Professor McGonagall had my best interests at heart when she gave me that Time Turner. She stressed that I wasn't allowed to tell anyone that I was going back in time to take classes, and that it was imperative I not see myself, or let anyone see me, when I turn back."

Here, she shares a smile with Harry, a look that doesn’t go unnoticed by her parents. The smile falls off her face as she gets a faraway look on her face, thinking back to the first time she went through her third year. She isn't over exaggerating, but she's also playing it up a bit. Because McGonagall knew, Hermione _could_ have gone to her, to talk about how she was coping.

But Hermione was very arrogant at that time, and thought she could handle anything. Professor McGonagall should have known her better and insisted that Hermione visit Madam Pomfrey, or explain the Time Turners better, so she wouldn't burn herself out like she did.

"It's also my fault. I thought I could handle all those extra classes. I should have used a few extra turns to sleep, but I thought I could power through. Professor McGonagall was also very clear that I was only supposed to use the Turner for school purposes; I didn't know using it to sleep more was implied.

"I couldn't talk about it with you guys, and that was very difficult for me. I couldn't tell anyone, and so I was wound so tight by the end of the school year. Then," Hermione trails off, asking Harry with her gaze if it was alright to continue. He worriedly looks from her mother to her father, before steeling himself and nodding at her receptively.

"Then, Professor Dumbledore, our Headmaster… encouraged me to turn time with Harry to go back and save the life of Buckbeak, a hippogriff who was to be executed for political reasons, and Sirius Black, Harry's falsely imprisoned Godfather."

She sits back and allows her parents time to soak that in. Her mother has a deceptively mild look on her face, but Hermione knows there is a storm brewing behind that placid façade. Her father, on the other hand, has no problem with letting the beginnings of his outrage on his face.

Hermione explains what happened that night, with a few interjections from Harry, who was looking more and more withdrawn as the story unfolded. Like he thought her parents would blame _him_ for the trouble they got into.

She's been very careful about what she's told her parents about Hogwarts, knowing how they would take the constant danger she seemed to be in as she followed Harry. But she's always carried the weight of those untold stories, and the distance that grew between them because of it.

Hermione won't stand for it, this time around. She'll tone down the danger in the stories, but that won't stop her from telling them because she needs them to understand that the magical world isn't as perfect as she had always said it was. So hopefully, if it gets to the point where she _needs_ them to leave the country, for their safety, they will agree without her having to modify their memories.

It's almost funny, watching her parent's reactions. Her father gets progressively more angry—not at either of Harry or Hermione, but on their behalf—while her mother gets calmer. It's always been that way, Hermione thinks, and she's gotten the best of both her parents' tempers. She gets passionately angry, but she also gets a cold anger that can burn in her belly for ages.

When she's finished, she feels lighter than she has in a long time. She had forgotten how good talking to her parents felt, how good it felt to have someone—an adult—really looking out for her. And yet, Harry has been looking down at his plate for the last five minutes, and by the tenseness of his biceps, she knows that his fists are clenched.

She gives her father a significant look before pointedly looking at Harry. It takes her father a minute to understand what she's getting at, but soon some of the steam is pulled from his sails. He nods. "That Headmaster has a lot of nerve, putting the two of you in danger like that," he finally says, and it's no surprise to any of them when Harry's head shoots up to meet his gaze incredulously. "That's way too much responsibility for a couple of kids! He should _not_ have put that kind of pressure on the two of you like that! I have half a mind to ring up this professor, and give him a piece of my mind."

Hermione smiles beatifically when Harry gives her father a watery smile, full of relief that they weren't going to kick him out of the house for endangering their daughter. Though, in the back of her mind, Hermione frowns at that because her father brought up a good point. They _shouldn't_ have been the ones to go back and save Sirius—the Headmaster himself should have done more to help Sirius, and not relied on a couple of kids to fix it.

"Sorry, Dad, but I'm pretty sure Hogwarts doesn't have a phone line," she says with a giggle. "But you can write a very stern letter!"

Hermione is half joking, half serious. She knows that Professor Dumbledore isn't likely to take any letter from her parents seriously, especially in regards to Harry, given his track record with Harry. But she thinks that maybe, the Headmaster will start taking Harry's safety a little more seriously, and hopefully if he's entered into the Tournament again, that he'll be more proactive in finding who will be trying to facilitate Harry's death.

Her father takes it as a serious suggestion because he nods firmly, a frown entrenched on his face. While her father was wording the letter in his mind, Hermione's mother gets her attention by stopping rubbing her knuckles. "Why didn't you tell us this earlier?" she asks when Hermione turns to her.

Hermione looks down and shrugs. "I still thought I could handle it. Though, as evidenced by last night, that clearly wasn't the case. But, I'm also really glad I _can_ talk with you about it," she says, looking up at her mother through her lashes.

Her mother smiles at her, and resumes rubbing her knuckles comfortingly. "You can always talk with us, about anything. You too, Harry. Please don't hesitate to come to us with any problems," her mother says with a kind smile at the nervous looking boy.

Harry ducks his head, but Hermione can see a smile dancing on his mouth.

"Well!" her mother exclaims after a minute, dropping Hermione's hand and clapping her own. "I think we should do something special today. Maybe go to the cinema, or perhaps walk along the Sussex Heritage Coast. What do you all think about that?"

Hermione beams at her mother and nods enthusiastically, looking at Harry with an expectant look on her face. Harry shrugs, but the smile from earlier is still hanging off the corner of his mouth.

"Excellent!" her mother beams at her daughter. She looks at her husband, an exasperated look on her face as she notes that he is still furiously working on that letter in his mind. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Well, let's get ready, and he'll just have to catch up."

Hermione shares a look and a grin with Harry, something warm forming in her stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update Schedule: next chapter to be posted on or before midnight 5/31/2015.
> 
> Thanks everyone for your support of this story! Thanks to those of you who have read, commented, subscribed, bookmarked, and left kudos. 
> 
> It's looking like I won't yet be able to move this story back to updating once a week. Maybe in a few more weeks, but I can't make any promises.


	14. The Eleventh Note

Hermione spends the day in equal parts of elation and simmering anger.

It's new, seeing Harry interact with her parents as they walk along the coast. The day is overcast, but she can't smell any rain in the air, so it's a great day to spend outdoors. There is a sea breeze, but it's pleasant and not chilling, like it is in early spring.

Her mother is trying to engage a reluctant Harry into some small talk and help him from his self imposed shell, but after the revelations from this morning, Harry is understandably a little wary about how to act.

Her father, like always, is trying to subtly splash her as they walk with their feet in the water. She tolerates it, more now than she ever had before, because it’s something normal. Ever since returning to the past, she's been recognizing less and less. Even in her own interactions with her family, have been slightly different, slightly jarring.

She knows that it's because she's different, this time around, and her parents are merely reacting to her apparent maturity. She'd never told them so much as about the Wizarding World as she had this morning, and given the significant looks her parents exchanged with each other when they thought she wasn't looking, she doesn't yet know if this is a good thing.

Even before she told them what happened with Sirius, they had noticed the weight she was under—that she was very different from the Hermione that left them before the start of the year. To them, they must have assumed the change was gradual, happening over the course of several months.

And she wasn't about to do anything to disabuse them of the notion, if only because she didn’t want to worry them any further.

Yet, the simple action of her father flicking water up the back of her legs is oddly nostalgic, and she can't help the soft smile that spreads over her face as they walk farther down the coast.

She hadn't realized how stressed she was making herself, worrying about the future, until she was forced to take this break. Instead, she forces all her concerns about her place in the past, and simply enjoys the earnest way Harry is listening to her mother, even if he wasn't feeling confident enough to contribute to the conversation.

_Yes_ , she thinks to herself, _this is why I'm here. I'm_ going _to give Harry a better life. I'm going to give him something to hold on to._

And then her father oversteps in his desire to get a reaction from her, and her entire back is soaked. She turns to him slowly, her smile turning thunderous, as she glares at her father. Involuntarily, her father takes a step back at her dark look and her hand shakes as she points a finger at him. "You understand, of course," she starts, her tone deceptively mild. "That this means war, correct?"

What follows is possibly the most intense water fight in the history of Sussex Heritage Coast. No one emerges unscathed; indeed, every one of them is soaked and laughing by the time they collapse on the beach.

That's when the anger rears its unpleasant head. Because Harry had stood on the side when Hermione's mother attempted to get in between Hermione and her father with such a longing look on Harry's face that Hermione was forced to kick water up into his face with an impish grin just to make that look go away.

He had looked so stunned that her parents had stopped attempting to drown each other in the shallow water and exchanged another look between the two of them. Hermione offers him a look as she cocks her head in the direction of her parents in an invitation. Harry looks indecisive for another moment before gathering his immense Gryffindor courage and kneels down before a veritable tidal wave crashes over her parents.

Over their sputtering, Hermione slaps Harry a high five. That was when the fight got _interesting._

Hermione looks up at the sky when it's over, her chest heaving from the exertion. A grin plays about the corners of her mouth, even as anger still simmers in her stomach.

Harry deserved better, she knows, and he should have had a better childhood. Just watching his interactions today with her parents showed Hermione that Harry didn't know how to act on a family outing.

She blames the Dursely's, mostly, but there is a bit of self-directed anger in there as well. _She_ could have done better; she _should_ have done better, the last time around. It's too late for self recriminations, and at least she's making a difference this time, she thinks hollowly.

At least she's _trying,_ which is more than she can say for the Hermione of the first timeline. She shifts her head, looking up to where Harry is laying, a small smile on his face as he pants, his eyes closed as he lays on the beach beside her father.

_We'll do more of this, this summer,_ she thinks, and when she makes eye contact with her father, she knows her thoughts are reverberated within his mind, if the significant look he gives her is of any indication.

* * *

Late that night, she lays staring up at her ceiling, her fingers on her left hand tapping the back of her right hand resting on her stomach. She sighs inaudibly, disappointed but not surprised at her racing mind.

She supposes she should be thankful she got sleep when she did, in the last week, before her mind decided to run away from her. She deftly moves around her room, pulling her curtains over her windows and stuffing a blanket along the bottom of her door.

This done, she turns on her desk light and sits at her desk, a pile of paper in front of her.

She had kept her mind quiet all week, suppressing all the thoughts of the future with sheer force of will. But with Harry here, there is a sense of urgency there wasn't before.

She picks up her pen before reconsidering, realizing that however much she may want to organize her thoughts on paper, it just isn't safe to leave something like that lying around.

Her eyes close of their own accord and she falls into her mind. She's never studied Occlumency, not like Harry was forced to, but she imagines that it's something she will pick up fairly quickly.

(She makes a note to look for a book when she is in Diagon Ally, though she isn't sure she'll find anything on the obscure art.)

As a general rule, she's never tolerated chaos when it comes to her mind. Her thoughts are ordered and neat as they fly by at immense speeds and she has to consciously try and slow them down.

_Get Harry's summer work done._

She mulls over that thought, before nodding, deciding she'd push for them to do that the day after tomorrow, to get it finished while her parents are at work. Perhaps they can also have a talk about extracurricular work, she thinks, and allows that to percolate.

Or, she should start quizzing him on many of the things they learned in the previous year, to see how much of it he was comprehending and maybe start to introduce topics from their fourth year early, she decides with an eager grin, still marveling at the new side of Harry that was revealed just last night.

Her next concerns are more complex, and not really something she can work on over the summer. Despite her prodigious knowledge of Ancient Runes, at this point, the Trace is something she can't get around. There was a slim possibility that it would dissipate when she returned to the past, but as soon as she left Hogwarts she could feel that restriction tightening around her.

The Trace, she had hypothesized, measured a person's magical age, not physical age. But, she should have noticed that faulty logic when it broke on her when she was seventeen, not any earlier, despite the time she spent Turning in her third year. Granted, she was not nearly as good as Harry at sensing magic, but it was something she had learned in the last couple of years.

All that aside, it meant that Hermione is limited in just how much she can do this summer. Next summer, perhaps, she'll have figured out a way to circumvent the Trace, but she just hadn't had enough time at Hogwarts to look into it before the term ended. She didn't even know if she'd have the time to devote to it, not with everything else she needed to work on.

Putting that thought away for now, she decides to focus on what she _can_ work on, this summer. That list is pitifully small, and it amounts to basically preparing Harry as much as she can for the coming year and helping him enjoy the summer.

In a way, it makes her feel anxious because she knows there is so much she should be doing. Yet, it isn't feasible, no matter how much she wishes it's different.

Though, she can at least admit to herself that the break will be as much for Harry's sake as it was for hers. She has just dropped from a war into a relatively peaceful time, and she can use a break—can use having a few weeks where she can just relax and try to enjoy the peace while it lasts.

To calm her mind, she makes a mental list of things she needs to think about for next year, and what she can feasibly change. She doesn't know if she can oust the imposter masquerading as Moody, at least in a way that could be believable—she doesn't know if she could stop Harry's name from being entered into the tournament.

But she's damn well going to try.

Her eyes open and in the slit beneath her curtains she can see that the sun is just starting to rise. She sighs before she turns her lamp off and falls into bed.

She's out within a minute.

* * *

"So I was thinking we could finish your essays today," Hermione begins on Monday morning, cradling a mug of tea to her chest as she loses herself in the aroma.

Her and Harry are sitting on the island, eating the remainder of their breakfast after her parents had left for their practice.

"Actually," Harry begins, a bashful look on his face. "After the cinema yesterday, I worked on them after everyone turned in for the night."

Hermione tilts her head at him, and his gaze falls to the soggy remains of his cereal. She smiles, saying, "That's great! Did you want me to take a look at them?"

Harry's eyes dart to her before moving away as he considers this, before shaking his head. "Actually, I don't think they need it," he says while shrugging his shoulders. "But, if you want to…?"

"No," Hermione agrees. "If you think they're good, I believe you. That said, I'd like to do some review with you today."

Hermione gives him a stern look, daring him to disagree with her. Despite his meekness of the past two days, he actually manages a grin, as if he had been waiting for her to suggest they do just that. "Of course, Hermione."

Momentarily, Hermione is seized with doubt as old insecurities rush to the forefront of her mind before she can stop them. "Unless you don't want to," she says uncertainly.

Harry finally looks up at her, confusion written across his face. "Hermione? Are you alright?"

Hermione fiddles with the spoon in her mug before shrugging her shoulders. "I won't force you to review, if you don't want to. I—I want you to enjoy your time here, not force you to study when you don't want to."

Harry's brows pinch together for a moment before his face smooths out—not that Hermione notices, staring at her mug as she is.

"Hermione," Harry says, and something in his tone causes her to look up quizzically.

"I would love to study with you."

The beaming smile Hermione unleashes stays with her, long after they clean their dishes and leave the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update Schedule: Next chapter to be posted on or before midnight of 6/14/2015.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who has read, subscribed, commented, bookmarked, and left kudos!


	15. The Twelfth Note

Hermione has always had a very specific schedule and routine when it comes to studying and revision. Before an exam, she would re-read her textbook, re-read the notes she took during the first time she read the textbook, go through her class notes while making _another_ set of notes of the most pertinent information.

She'd write up mock questions and test herself with them. Then, when she was lucky, she could get either Ron or Harry to test her, though it usually ended up with _her_ testing _them_ about the material. Not that she minded, as it was another mode of revision, but it wasn't the way she learned best.

Her summer revision plans were generally more drawn out. She wouldn't usually re-read her textbooks again (because at this point she had read the books through at least three times, sometimes more); she has excellent recall, so reading through her books again would just be overkill. But she would go over her notes again, and her parents were always more than willing quiz her when she asks.

After the books lists are released, she methodically reads through each new book after visiting Diagon Alley, though she rarely has the chance to write out any notes since the lists are often released only a few weeks before returning to Hogwarts. No matter how fast a reader she is, she's never been able to take many notes in that short amount of time.

It's a novel experience, to have someone else to revise with. For the first time, they are taking turns with quizzing one another (Charms, for today, but she's already weaseled a promise out of him to work on Transfiguration next), and though initially Harry is less sure with his answers, he slowly gains confidence.

By the time they stop for lunch, his book is out and he is coming up with his own insightful questions to test Hermione's knowledge, and though it's been years since Hermione studied this material, she's finding herself challenged.

Not by the difficulty of the questions, which are fairly straightforward, but by the spin Harry places on them. His questions aren't a matter of recalling an incantation or wand movement, a date or place, or any number of rote questions he could have asked. No, Harry's questions were more along the lines of what he just asked, like, "What do the knockback jinx and the unlocking charm have in common?"

Hermione's brow furrows as she looks deep in thought, going through all she knows about these two spells in quick succession. Different incantations, and different origins—the unlocking charm was West African in origin, while the knockback jinx has its roots in Latin. She starts to think aloud, "The wand movements aren't similar; _Alohomora_ is a reversed S while _Flipendo_ is a sharp flick spell with a flare. Origin dates of both spells are unknown, though we do know that _Alohomora_ was introduced to Europe during the 17th century. _Alohomora_ also has a specific countercharm, while none exists for _Flipendo._ Hmm," Hermione muses, a part of her mind excited by the challenge of the question.

She runs through everything she knows about both spells (admittedly, this takes a few minutes as she knows quite a bit about both spells) and the only connection she can find is that they were both taught when they were first years, but she doesn't really think that was what Harry meant.

A part of her is furiously trying to decipher what the answer could be, while a larger part of her preens with pride for having convinced Harry to study with her—and for him to take it as seriously as he was. She watches him shrewdly enough to notice that despite trying to look calm, his lips are quirked upwards. A smile spreads across her face as the answer comes to her.

"I thought, at first, that the only similarities between these two spells is that they were taught during first year. But it's more than that, isn't it? You were trying to trick me. There are actually a lot of things in common between these two spells. They are some of the first few spells we learn, so they are very magically "light" in how much energy it takes to cast them. They are single incantations, though they both have stronger variants if the suffix "duo" is added to the incantation. The wand movements are second tier, with two movements each. And, a lesser known fact, is that both of these spells can be made more effective by channeling enough magic to them."

Harry finally releases the smile at her, and he shrugs his shoulders. "I wasn't _really_ trying to trick you. It's not my fault you have a tendency to over think certain questions," he says with a grin.

Hermione groans, shooting him a dark look, before she stretches her back, pulling her arms tightly over her head. "Well, I'm thinking that's a good place for a break. I could use some lunch while I think about the next complex question I could ask you," she says slyly, snickering at the suddenly worried look on his face as she gets up from her chair.

"Eh, Hermione, you know I was only joking, right? Hermione?"

Hermione merely smirks as she leaves the room, and Harry's increasingly worried calls, behind her.

* * *

As they prepare a simple lunch of fruit and sandwiches, Hermione watches Harry from the corner of her eye. She's been trying to think of a polite way to broach the topic of electives for the coming year, but she isn't sure how, or how well it would be received.

"What is it, Hermione?" Harry asks, curiosity coloring his tone.

Hermione jumps, startled, before a sheepish smile crosses her face. "I was that obvious, was I?"

Harry gives her a droll look, dryly stating, "Just a bit. I'm not going to bite."

Sighing, Hermione picks at the peeled apple on her plate. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but why did you choose Divination and Care of Magical Creatures for your electives? You would have done well in Arithmancy, and you probably would have liked Ancient Runes," she implores. In a previous life, she had asked her Harry what made him choose those classes, and he never really gave her a satisfying answer. He joked that it was the only classes that interested him, but she knew it wasn't true.

Harry contemplatively chews through the bite of his sandwich before shrugging. "I don't know."

Again, Hermione can pick out the lie, but she won't buy it this time. She shakes her head and stubbornly points at him with her fork. "Try again, buddy."

Startled, Harry looks up at her before a rueful smile slips onto his face as he shakes his head. "I'm starting to think you know me too well," he says. "Better than I know myself even."

Hermione doesn't say anything to that, because what can she say? 'I don't really know _you_ per se, but I intimately know a you, a few years from now?' Yet, she's beginning to think that she didn't really know Harry at all, at this point in the timeline.

"I wasn't really thinking when I chose my courses," Harry says after a long pause, when it was clear that Hermione wasn't going to respond. "I picked the courses that I thought would be the easiest. Courses I knew both you and Ron were going to be in. I wasn't thinking about which ones would interest me, only which ones I wouldn't be alone in."

Hermione's heart stutters in her throat at the honest answer. She knew, deep down, that was why he took those courses, but she had never really confronted him on it in their previous life.

There was something vulnerable in the way he was staring down at his lunch, yet Hermione felt that he had never been braver. Admitting that he took the classes he did because he was afraid of being alone took an immense amount of bravery, and she smiled at him through her watering eyes.

"Thank you for telling me," she says, and she catches him staring up at her through his messy fringe. There is nothing she wants more than to throw herself at him in a crushing hug, but the way he's half sitting on his chair, like he's ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble, she knows that isn't what he needs right now.

"How about I tell you what those classes are like, and you can let me know if you want to study either course this summer? We could probably convince Professor McGonagall to let you switch electives, if you find yourself enjoying Ancient Runes or Arithmancy, or you could self-study and I'd let you know what we went over in class. At the very least, I can get some revision out of explaining certain concepts to you, since I've only just begun the study myself."

Harry moves his head up, actually looking at her again, and says quietly, "I'd like that."

Smile stretching across her face, Hermione claps her hands excitedly, half eaten sandwich before her all but forgotten.

"Alright, let's start with Ancient Runes first, since that's _my_ favorite. It's primarily a theoretical subject, at least up until our O.W.L.'s, of ancient runic scripts of magic. You need a basis in Runes if you want to pursue a career in warding, curse breaking, enchanting, et cetera."

As Hermione speaks, repeating almost verbatim Professor Babbling's first lecture of the year, Harry listens, first staring at his plate but soon meeting her gaze in curiosity.

Eventually, they finish their lunches and do the dishes before making their way back to the study, still discussing Runes. Hermione looks at their Charms work, and debates internally with herself.

Some of her conflict must have shown on her face because Harry laughs. "We can come back to this," he gestures at her Charms notes, "tomorrow, if you'd like."

Harry was attempting nonchalance, but she could hear interest in his tone. She smothers a smirk, knowing that Harry's innate curiosity is working in her favor—that and she was trying to make Runes sound as interesting as possible. Yes, their first year of classes were mostly spent learning certain groups of runes, and being able to read and recognize them. They wouldn't get into the interesting parts, the parts Hermione _knew_ Harry would like, until N.E.W.T.'s, so she didn't think she could convince him to actually take the course, yet.

She thought she'd have no problems getting him to self-study it, however. Arithmancy, while important for spell crafting and higher level Rune crafting, wasn't something she thought she could get him interested in due to its complexity.

Late afternoon, however, he surprises her, asking about the premise behind Arithmancy when their discussion of Runes pauses. When she looks surprised, Harry self-consciously shrugs his shoulders.

"I know you talked about it a lot this year," Harry shrugs, his face heating. "But I'm afraid I wasn't really listening when you tried, many times, to explain it."

"Honestly," Hermione huffs, but there is an indulgent smile on her face, letting Harry know that she isn't taking it personally. "Basically, it's a magical maths class. There are a lot of complicated equations that help us predict certain things. Again, if you want to get into curse-breaking, Arithmancy is a precursor that'll be very helpful."

Harry looks contemplative, cocking his head. "I wasn't bad at maths, back in primary." He looks a little nervous, saying, "I think I remember seeing one of your number charts. It looked very complicated."

"It is," Hermione says simply. At Harry's downtrodden look, she adds with confidence, "But I think you could handle it."

Harry smiles up at her and shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. Maybe learning one new course this summer will be more than enough for me."

Hermione cocks her head at him before shrugging. "Whatever you want. I could lend you my textbook at some point and you can look through it, see if it might interest you. There is always next summer," she says with a smile.

Harry looks surprised, like he didn't expect to be invited back next year. But he smiles and it lights up his whole face. "Next summer, huh? I think I'd like that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update Schedule: new chapter to be posted on or before midnight on 6/29/2015. Note that this is a Monday; I will probably not get the chance to post on Sunday.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has read, commented, subscribed, bookmarked and left kudos! Your support means a lot to me!
> 
> This was a research intensive chapter, where I had to hunt down specific information of the classes and those two spells from the books, and the wikia page. So I'd like to credit whoever pulled those pages together.


	16. The Thirteenth Note

Hermione's summer soon falls into a comfortable rhythm for the small family plus Harry. Weekdays are spent reviewing the previous years' coursework, interspersed with walks about their neighborhood , movie marathons, and more board games than Hermione realized she had.

Weekends are spent on family outings, reintroducing Harry to some of the perks of the non-magical world. Rather than taking one long vacation this year, Hermione has convinced her parents to take them on many smaller vacations, within the country, to play tourists. They walked along a portion of Hadrian's wall, camped in the Lake District, took a couple of weekend tours of London to see the sights, Windsor Castle…

All the things Harry _should_ have seen, growing up in the United Kingdom, but didn't because his relatives never took him on their outings. After the second weekend trip, Harry started to get nervous, telling her parents that he would pay them back, as soon as he got the chance to stop by Gringotts.

Hermione isn't quite sure what was said, but after her mother pulled Harry aside for a few minutes, Harry didn't offer to pay his way again, though he did still look a little uncomfortable with her parents paying for him on their little outings.

All in all, it has been the best summer she has had in a very long time. Spending time with her parents, and Harry, is a balm to her aching soul and has helped her piece together the cracks in her being—the remnants of living through a war where she was at the epicenter.

They even took a trip up to Alton Towers for Harry's birthday and introduced him to something Hermione _knew_ he'd love—roller coasters. Hermione went on one or two of the tamer rides, but her father was ecstatic that he finally had someone to go on some of the more daring coasters as neither Hermione nor her mother really cared for them, and went on every single one with Harry, sometimes multiple times.

He got gifts of clothes and shoes from Hermione's parents (their favorite type of gift to give, other than books), and Hermione had ordered Harry a wrist holster for his wand.

Hermione knew, even though Harry didn't say anything, that he was touched by the thought that went into the planning of that outing. It was a late night, and they ate out for dinner, getting the wait staff to sing for Harry. He fell asleep in the car ride back with a peaceful smile on his face, that night.

Yet, like all good things, the summer seemed to fly by, and before long, Hedwig was returning from the Weasley's with a letter from Ron about the Quidditch World Cup. The letter was initially stilted, as many of his letters to Hermione have been, but his enthusiasm for the game quickly overrode that awkwardness.

Over dinner, Hermione asks permission without much enthusiasm. She knew they would acquiesce, like her parents normally did when regarding something from the magical world—but she didn't want this summer to end.

"Well, do you want to go, dear?" Hermione's mother asks her, picking up on her hesitance.

"Of course—England hasn't hosted the World Cup for many years! It will be a fascinating cultural experience," she defends, but her heart isn't fully in it. The first go around, she led an impassioned defense of why she _needed_ to attend the World Cup, even though she doesn't care for the sport itself.

This time, she's more hesitant, since she knows what will happen at the end of the evening. She thinks she may have been able to mitigate Harry's wand being stolen, but she really has no way of knowing, until that night, and that is not at all how she likes to plan.

Harry's the one who was always able to come up with strategies during the heat of the moment, not Hermione. She plans and plans for every eventuality, even though that is impossible, she tries anyway.

"Hmm," her mother hums, wiping her lips with the napkin from her lap and setting it on her empty plate. "Will there be any responsible adults accompanying you?"

Harry and Hermione share a brief look, but only for a second—any longer and they might have started laughing. Ron's letter mentioned that his older brothers would be there, and his father, but his mom wasn't planning on attending the match. And as fond as Hermione was of Mr. Weasley, he wasn't the most responsible of adults—Hermione is vividly reminded of the car he _illegally_ enchanted to fly.

Harry takes over, saying, "Mr. Weasley will be there, along with Bill and Charlie, his oldest sons."

Hermione's mother looks at her shrewdly, before daintily raising an eyebrow. "You didn't actually confirm there would be a _responsible_ adult. You only told me who would be there."

Hermione's father smothers a laugh and turns it into a cough when they all look at him. He innocently looks back and shrugs. "I say let them go. It _is_ a once and a lifetime opportunity. I admit, I'm actually curious about watching a game myself, sometime," he admits, a tone of wistfulness creeping into his voice.

Hermione isn't surprised. Harry has taken to watching the Sunday night footie games with her father, and she's heard them discussing the similarities and differences between non-magical sports and Quidditch.

Sighing, Hermione's mother nods. "Alright. You said the game was on the 22nd? When will they be expecting you?"

Hermione shrugs, as Ron's letter hadn't been very forthcoming. "I'd imagine we will be invited over the night before, and I can only think of a few ways we could get there." Hermione looks speculatively at Harry before shrugging, "We should probably take the Knight Bus over, and let Ron know that and when to expect us."

Harry looks a little green, but he nods, knowing that of all the forms of Wizarding travel (he's tried), the Knight Bus is only minisculely better than Floo—and it wasn't like they could just fly there, since Hermione was not a fan of riding brooms.

(Hermione can admit to herself that she is a little looking forward to seeing Harry's reaction to a Portkey—just another form of travel for Harry to hate.)

"Alright. So, will you return this summer, or did you want to spend the week at Mr. Weasley's?" her mother asks.

Hermione shrugs a little helplessly, but Harry answers for her. "It will depend on how long the game goes. In the past, some games have lasted days, others only hours. But Ron has invited me for the remainder of the summer, and… as much as I've appreciated your hospitality…" Harry trails off, and for the first time, Hermione realizes that Harry is actually conflicted about whether or not he wants to stay with them.

Heart swelling with some indefinable emotion that she keeps a tight lid on, Hermione can't help the smile that spreads across her face. She prompts him, "But you've always been at the Weasley's at the end of summer, and at this point its tradition?"

Harry looks grateful for her understanding. "Yeah. This has been… one of the best summers of my life. I—I can't thank you enough for welcoming me for these past few weeks."

Hermione's mother, always so stoic and composed, looks a little misty eyed and reaches across the table to pat Harry's hand. "It's been a pleasure to have you. You are, of course, welcome back anytime."

Harry is beginning to look overwhelmed, so Hermione's father clears his throat and makes a goofy, shrugging kind of gesture. "What the wife said. Who else will listen to my jokes and yell at the telly with me over bad ref calls? Which reminds me—pre-game show, anyone?"

Hermione tries not to, but she snorts, rolling her eyes at her father. Her mother excuses him with a negligent wave of her hand, and when Harry looks like he wants to follow—whether that's because he wants to actually watch the game with her father, or because he wants to get away from the _feelings,_ Hermione isn't sure—Hermione's mother waves him off too.

Soon, it's just Hermione and her mother in the dining room, and they make quick work of the dishes. Hermione hesitates as she leaves, turning back to her mother, who is staring out the window over the sink at the setting sun, expression shuttered.

"Mum? Are you okay?" Hermione asks, slowly walking back and taking a seat at the island.

In another life, she might not have asked—she might not have cared enough to notice the fragility of her mother's expression. She might not have known her mother well enough to notice the change.

A faded smile lights across her mother's face as she turns towards Hermione, and she shakes her head. "What are we going to do with you?" she mutters, mostly to herself, though Hermione can catch a faint tinge of amazement. "I'll be fine, sweetheart."

Mirroring her mother from earlier, Hermione gives her a shrewd look. "That doesn't mean you are okay _now._ You can—you can tell me, if you want."

The smile grows, and her mother moved forward, leaning her forearms against the other side of the island. "Sometimes, I'm astounded you are only fourteen. You act more like an adult than most adults—your father included," she jokes, yet there is a serious light to her eyes. "You've always been like that, though. Perhaps that stems from being an only child, and we always pushed you _so hard_ to excel."

There is something dark in her mother's tone, something self-deprecating. Hermione has no idea where this is coming from, but she realizes she needs to nip it immediately. "You didn't push me too hard—you supported me as I strove to reach the stars. You instilled good values that I continue to live by, everyday."

"Do you really?" her mother asks, though by the tone she's using, she isn't expecting an answer.

"Every day," Hermione asserts, holding her mother's gaze steadily. A little more hesitantly, she tries to maneuver around the conversation. "Just because I'm a witch, doesn't make me any less of your daughter—it's a major part of me, yes, but you and Dad are _just as_ important to me. I haven't always expressed that, and I think I forgot that for a while there, but I won't, ever again."

Hermione's mother studies her intently, trying to pick apart her words and gauge her sincerity. A smile blossoms across her face, contained, but softening her sharp features. "So, you and Harry seem close," her mother says, dropping the topic and moving on.

The insinuation might have made Hermione blush, last time around. But this Hermione is a bit older, a bit more experienced, and not as liable to get embarrassed by a conversation with her mother. "Mum! Harry's my best friend. Nothing more."

"But you don't wish it?" her mother shoots back, arching her brow. "I've seen the way you look at him, sometimes."

Hermione blanches, but manages to cover the reaction. She hadn't—had she? She loves Harry, has for years, but she doesn't feel that way about _this_ Harry. She can't. It hurts too much to even think about it, to even consider it. "No, mum, I haven't been looking at Harry in any way. He's my best friend."

Her mother gives her a hard stare, but she doesn't give an inch. "I suppose not," her mother consents, but Hermione doesn't think her mother is buying it. "It's just as well. I suppose this is a conversation I should have had with you earlier, but I kept trying to put it off, keep you as a young girl as long as I could. No matter, you are turning into a young woman and…"

It turns out, Hermione was wrong. Apparently there _is_ a conversation she can have with her mother that can get Hermione flustered and embarrassed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update Schedule: Next chapter to be posted on or before midnight 7/13/2015. Again, note this is Monday. I'll try for Sunday, but I might be too busy to get this chapter written over the weekend. 
> 
> Thanks everyone who has read, left comments, subscribed, bookmarked, and left kudos! 
> 
> This was a rough chapter. I've had a migraine most of the weekend, so staring at a computer screen has been difficult. Thankfully I was feeling better, so I got some writing done, but it doesn't feel like my best work, unfortunately. I might return to this chapter at a later date and expand upon some things I only touched on. Who knows.


	17. The Note of Beginning

The next week flies by, like many summers do, leaving Hermione in little more than a daze as she tries to fit everything she wants to do in those last few days with her parents.

She had Harry confirm with Ron that they would be taking the Knight Bus on the 21st of August, and that they would arrive some time before dinner—she knows if she had just left it, it probably wouldn't get done, and there would be some sort of confusing miscommunication...

Preemptively, Hermione had them take a trip to Diagon Ally for the majority of their school supplies, even though their book lists haven't yet arrived. No specific books, but they refilled their potion kits, stationary kits, got new robes, and got a few books for a bit of light reading.

Her parents, like every other year before she left—for the Weasley's or school—made all her favorites for dinner that. Yet, it wasn't just her favorites, she noticed.

She has always been partial to French and Italian cooking. But Harry seemed to enjoy a few of the more traditional English meals, so Hermione wasn't surprised to see that her parents snuck a few of those meals in as well. It made her happy in a way that she hadn't felt in a very long time.

All too soon, Harry and Hermione are standing in the foyer of Hermione's house, her parents watching from the hallway—her father's hands resting on his wife's shoulders. Her and Harry's trunks are packed, placed beside the front door with Hedwig's and Crookshank's cages on top.

Nobody speaks for a long moment, and Hermione is hesitant to break the silence. She takes a long look around the foyer—the entry table with the mini bookcase below it, the painting from her grandmother's house, the pale blue walls, accented by cream carpeting up the stairs on the left. This is home, she thinks, and misses already.

Cinnamon and her mother's subtle, floral perfume permeates the foyer, and she takes a deep breath, savoring it. By the time her eyes open, her mother is staring at her, a sad smile creasing her face.

She rushes to her parents, finding comfort in their embrace for one more time—she won't see them again for a few months, at the least.

Somehow, Hermione managed to snag Harry's shirt in her fist as she tears past him, so they ended up in a huge family hug. Hermione smiles into her father's shoulder when Harry almost immediately relaxes into it—though he pulls away after a few moments, uncomfortable with the proximity.

Her mother's eyes are shining when they all pull away, but no one comments because Hermione's are too—Harry and her father share a manly handshake, and Hermione hugs her mother one more time before they turn to the door.

"Keep in touch," Her mother says as they heft their trunks over the threshold.

Hermione smiles, nodding. "Of course," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"You too," her mother continues without commenting on Hermione's lip.

Startled, Harry turns back to Hermione's parents before a smile creeps onto his face and he just nods his head.

The door closes a moment later with a note of finality, and Harry stares at Hermione for a brief moment before they turn towards the road. Thankfully, Hermione lives at the end of a cul-de-sac, and the houses are far enough away from the road that none of the nearby houses will be able to—hopefully—see the Knight Bus.

Harry looks at Hermione again, this time inquiringly, and juggles his shoulders. Hermione nods towards him, motioning with her hands, "Go for it."

They had asked, when they stopped at Diagon Ally earlier this week, how exactly they were supposed to summon the Knight Bus, especially in a non-magical neighborhood. Granted, Hermione had _known_ how to summon the Bus, but she had no feasible reason that she would have known, so it was just one of many things she's been laying the groundwork for about her expanding knowledge.

It was actually exciting, she realized, knowing so many things but being unable to explain just _how_ she knows them. She's been very careful about letting Harry in on what she's learning, but she knows she doesn't really need to be _too_ careful, because she's always been known for knowing some off the wall things.

She's _always_ been a font of knowledge, but it's like reading six books at the same time—she can do it, and well, but it takes her a few moments to switch gears, to think about what she knows, what she _should_ know, and what she can feasibly claim to know.

She shakes the thoughts away as Harry raises his wand over his head, hailing the Knight Bus with a flick of his wrist. With the sound of an engine backfiring (or perhaps a very loud apparition) the purple bus swirls out from nothingness, mere feet in front of them.

If Hermione hadn't already ridden the Knight Bus at least once, she probably would have fallen backwards in surprise. As it was, she still takes a frightened step back, urging her racing heart to calm down.

"Welcom' to t'e Knight Bus! Eme'gency travel for the stranded witch or—Hey, Neville!"

Hermione jerked around, before her gaze settled on the sheepish Harry. _Oh,_ she remembered with a smile, _Harry gave the name Neville the first time he met Stan._ Hermione grins, and she steps forward again.

Harry mumbles a, "Hello," while Hermione takes over their travel arrangements. "We'd like a one way to Ottery St. Catchpole. The Burrow, if it isn't too much trouble," she says with a smile and motioning to their trunks.

Stan gives her a mightily unimpressed look before hefting the top trunk with a grunt, bringing it aboard the bus before coming back out for the other one.

After Hermione paid and they settled themselves in chintzy armchairs (still too early for the beds, she supposes), Hermione gives Harry a wicked grin. "So, _Neville,_ tell me about your last trip on the Knight Bus?"

Harry just groans, dropping his face into his hands. "Sue me! I was a little flustered, clearly not thinking straight. It was the first name that popped into my head!"

Hermione tilts her head. Curious that Harry would choose _Neville_ as the first name that pops into his head. Instead of commenting on that, she merely grins harder and gives him a _look._

He glares at her before rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. "Oh, whatever."

Hermione laughs as he pouts. It doesn't take long before their stop is next, and they get dropped off at the end of the spindly lane, the end of which lies the Burrow.

They stand there, looking at the old house for a few minutes, the late afternoon sun beating down on them. Hermione leans over and lets Crookshanks out, and he tears from his crate with a loud yowl before disappearing in the shrubbery.

Hermione makes eye contact with Harry before looking down at their trunks. She heaves a sigh while grabbing the end of her trunk, dragging it a few feet forward, the empty crate in her other hand. "C'mon, we've still got a bit of a walk ahead of us."

Harry's face, a picture of peacefulness, just grins at her as he grabs the end of his trunk and starts walking along beside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update Schedule: next chapter to be posted on or before midnight, 7/27/2015. Again, this is a Monday. I think I'll just indefinitely say that this story will have a Monday update day, instead of Sunday.
> 
> Thanks everyone who read, subscribed, bookmarked, commented and left kudos!
> 
> Super short chapter. Sorry everyone! I really have no excuse for it.


	18. The Fourteenth Note

Around the bend they walk, until the uneven path gives way to the precarious building and the view takes her breath away.

She never thought she would see the Burrow again, never imagined she would be welcomed back to the place that became her second home (after Hogwarts) when she first got her letter, years ago.

Harry has to prompt her to start walking again by bumping his shoulder against hers, a concerned look crowding over his features. Hermione crumples the feelings and shoots the boy beside her a wide grin, taking off again at a quicker clip.

"Hey!" he calls laughingly, jogging to catch up while simultaneously trying to drag his trunk behind him. "Wait up!"

Hermione starts when she reaches the door, her hand hovering a few feet from the door and laughter dying as if it was never there. Fears and insecurities grip her, clenching a tight grip around her wrist and heart.

It was a miracle none of them died, when Bill and Fleur's wedding was attacked. Ron had said they rebuilt, that it was as if the attack never happened, but Hermione never saw that—she only remembers the scent of smoke and spell fire before the three of them Apparated away.

The next time she sees any of the Weasley's is at the fighting at Hogwarts, and even then only from a distance. She burns at the memory, even as she shakes at the thought of seeing her magical family whole again.

She's so lost in her own mind that she's startled by Harry coming up beside her for the second time in as many minutes, the concern almost palpably radiating from him as he looks over from beside her.

She shakes her head, forestalling the questions budding on Harry's lips. She knows she has a melancholy smile on her face, but can't help it, any more than she can help the doubts swirling in her mind.

Yet, she marshals her Gryffindor courage and knocks smartly, before she can think any more on it. Harry is still staring at her, but the door opens before he can say anything and Mrs. Weasley is beaming at them.

"Harry, dear! Hermione! Welcome!" she exclaims, ushering them quickly in to the house, negligently waving her wand and causing the trunks to dance in behind them and sit at the bottom of the stairs.

Mrs. Weasley looks around the empty kitchen for a moment, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth before she lets it go with a shrug. "I could have sworn Ronald was just in here, waiting for the two of you. No matter! Hermione, if you don't mind, you'll be staying with Ginny again, and Harry, with Ron. Why don't you two get settled in and I'll see if I can find my wayward children," she mutters that last bit a little darkly, promising trouble for her youngest boy.

Hermione and Harry share a look before mutually agreeing that it was probably safest to head upstairs as quickly as they could, their trunks dragging behind them. Halfway up, a rumbling came from above them, where the twins room was and they share another look before Hermione smirks.

"Well, good luck getting up there!" Hermione says, patting his shoulder and knocking lightly on the door to Ginny's room while pushing it open. She turns back to him solemnly, and pats his shoulder. "Your bravery will be remembered, and your sacrifice lauded."

Harry grumbles, shaking off her hand but she can see amusement dancing behind his glasses. Yet, looking at him so closely, she notices the bags under his eyes for the first time, like he didn't sleep well last night. She curses herself for not noticing it sooner, and her gaze narrows on him as she tries to remember how long he's had those bags because she was sure they weren't there yesterday when they had an animated conversation with her parents about the different branches of magic over dinner.

She thinks back to so long ago, trying to remember—Ah. The memory tickles at her awareness, and she remembers he had been having scar pains this summer. Yet, now that she's thinking of it, she remembers it was earlier in the summer, wasn't it? He didn't tell her about it until later in her own timeline, but she was almost positive he had been having pains throughout the summer.

Yet, she doesn't remember him once rubbing his scar, an action she is finely tuned to noticing after they discovered the extent of the connection between his scar and Voldemort's activities. He doesn't even realize he does it, most of the time, but since the sign almost always means trouble, Hermione's taught herself to recognize it as important and is very unlikely to dismiss it, no matter how nice her summer was going.

She resolves to speak with him, tonight at the very latest, and see if she can get him to admit to anything and see if she can figure out what could be causing this change.

The amusement fades as he looks up the stairs in trepidation—he takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, continuing upwards, like a man about to face his executioner.

Again, an older Harry superimposes the younger in her vision and she has to shake away the image, scrounging around the find the amusement she just had a hold of. Her tinkling laughter is slightly off as it follows him up the stairs.

Hermione pushes the door open to Ginny's room fully, noting that the younger girl is absent from the room. She shrugs, pulling her trunk to the cot set up along the opposite wall from Ginny's bed.

She drops the trunk at the foot of the bed, and all but falls onto the cot, taking a deep breath. It smells like sweet cinnamon apple pie (the apple orchard below the open window adds to the lovely, rich scent) and faintly of chocolate.

"Oh, hey, Hermione," a voice demurs from the doorway, startling Hermione from her revere. "Mum said you'd be up here already."

"Ginny!" Hermione yelps, opening her eyes with a warm smile for the younger girl. She's able to, barely, disassociate this young girl in front of her from the angry young woman she was in Hermione's future, pulling against her brother to try and return to the castle during the siege.

The promise of strength is there, she knows, the steely determination the younger witch will soon come into lies just under the surface. Yet, this Ginny is so much… smaller than Hermione remembers—in stature and in personality—that Hermione doesn't have as much trouble separating the two in her mind.

"How's your summer going?" Hermione asks politely as Ginny hops up onto her bed to sit across from Hermione.

Ginny offers a shy smile as she shrugs. "Fine. How's yours been?" she asks, a little imploringly.

Hermione almost frowns, but stops herself at the last moment. She had forgotten Ginny was so shy at this point—the memory of the younger girl's crippling crush on Harry floats through her mind and Hermione has to try even harder to keep the frown from forming.

Ginny never really got over her crush on Harry, in her previous life. She learned to deal with it better, with the confidence gained by her inclusion into the DA. That crush was never something they had talked about before, since it made her uncomfortable to think about Harry like that, but it was skirted around, many times, as Ginny tried to learn more about Harry without prying.

Deep in her mind, Hermione sighs before promising to herself to be a better friend to Ginny this time around. "Really good," Hermione settles on, realizing she had been silent for too long.

Ginny watches her shrewdly, before pulling her legs up and sitting cross-legged. "Well? Don't leave me in suspense!"

Hermione frowns minutely in confusion, before she remembers this about Ginny. All Weasley children, to some degree, have a fascination—or at the very least, a modicum of respect—for the non-magical world. It may have only been a learned response from living with their father, who is almost fanatically intrigued by all aspects of non-magical life, but it's spilled over to all of the children, if not their mother.

Ginny, personally, had always wanted to know what Hermione does with her family on their downtimes during the summer, treating the outings into the non-magical world as fascinating adventures. Ron, on the other hand, had always treated the non-magical world as an unknown, frightening place, no matter how much Hermione assured him it was perfectly safe. Honestly, it made her equal parts exasperated and amused at his hesitance.

So Hermione gauges Ginny's interest and anticipation before jumping into telling her some of the stories of their summer, of places she doesn't think she's mentioned before, like Alton Towers and Windsor Castle. She's careful to stick strictly to descriptions and explanations, keeping the personal bits, like Harry's reactions, to herself though she is sure Ginny notices the holes in her stories.

But Ginny doesn't comment on that, only leaning back onto her elbows and sighing wistfully. "That, what was the word, amusing park? Amusement, right," she says with a nod after Hermione prompts her with the correct word. "Anyway, it sounds fun! Maybe one day…"

Ginny trails off, looking at Hermione bashfully. Hermione's startled to realize that Ginny's actually asking to accompany her, some time. Perhaps startled isn't the right emotion, Hermione equivocates. Happy, is a word to use, to know that even though she isn't that good a friend of Ginny's yet, that the younger girl would still want to be included in something like that.

Hermione smiles, even as her mind works through the logistics. "I'm sure we can make a day of it, next summer."

She can't promise anything, because there is no way of knowing just what next summer will look like. Maybe she'll be able to circumvent Voldemort's return, maybe she won't but what she _does_ know is that she won't be leaving Harry to wallow at the Dursley's, whatever the aftermath of the end of the year may be.

Ginny beams a smile at Hermione, leaning forward again with an intent look on her face. "You know—"

She cuts herself off when her door is shoved open, Ron's grinning face appearing between the crack. Hermione hears shuffling, and the very top of a mop of black hair, so she can only assume that Harry is out there with him.

A stormy look gathers on Ginny's face as she glares at her brother, "Ron! Get out!"

The grin Ron sports dims slightly and he gives his sister and aggrieved look. "Merlin! I was just letting you know dinner is ready. No need to yell," he mutters, a dark look passing over his face as he rolls his eyes.

Like a flip's been switched, Ginny vaults from her bed, marching over to the door. "Well, why didn’t you say so?"

Ginny pushes her way past her brother, and Hermione can hear the "Eep!" sound she makes when she realizes that Harry is right behind her prat of a brother. Hermione smothers a grin, and without thinking, shares the look with Ron.

"Mental, that one," Ron says, his hand still on the doorknob, looking down the stairs with raised eyebrows. He shakes the thought away and returns his gaze to Hermione. "Coming?"

"I'm right behind you," she says, and she's proud of herself for not struggling to stay neutral.

He gives her another look, far more perceptive than Hermione was expecting, before he shrugs his shoulders and takes off down the stairs, two at a time. Harry peaks into the room, curiously looking around before settling his gaze on Hermione.

She shoos him to follow and he does after a moment, but not before offering her an encouraging smile. She shakes her head with a smile of her own as she slowly stands.

Things are changing, all around her. In many instances, she doesn't know how, or why, just that _something_ she's done is changing how she remembers things, and more importantly, the people she knows.

She doesn't know if she was just unobservant, the first time around, and never realized the depths of the people around her, or maybe _she's_ doing something to change their perception of her?

She frowns and rubs her forehead, knowing she can't really do anything to get away from these thoughts.

Yet, she can't help thinking that, by the end of the school year, none of her previous experiences or foreknowledge of events will matter much because things are changing far too quickly and are completely out of her control.

She can only hope that she can adapt and plan to ensure her safety, and the safety of those she loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update schedule: I'm officially going to take a two week break from this series. Clearly I need to get my head on straight, since this chapter is a whole week late and I have no excuses except laziness. I'm going to try and parse out where I need to go in the next few chapters, so I can have some sort of plan for the rest of the story. That said, I'll try and get the next chapter of this up at posted by midnight, 8/23/2015. 
> 
> I'm also curious to see if anyone is interested in alternate points of view. It'll all be third person, since I'm very bad with first person, but maybe an insight into the Granger family? Not sure if I could do one from Harry's perspective yet, but I could think about it and get around to it. They'd be mini-chapters, likely posted in tandem with another chapter, so like a double update but probably less than a thousand words.
> 
> Anyway, thanks everyone for your patience and support. Thanks to those who have read, commented, bookmarked, subscribed and left kudos!


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